


Sing To Him, Each Spring

by supergrover24



Category: Bandom, Empires, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: AU, Community: bandombigbang, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-18
Updated: 2009-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergrover24/pseuds/supergrover24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Bewitched AU in which Jon and Ryan have a whirlwind courtship culminating in a wedding in a Vegas chapel. They must adjust to being married and learning things about each other still, like the fact that Ryan is a warlock and comes with two best friends, Brendon and Spencer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing To Him, Each Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on the television show, not the movie, specifically the first five episodes. It's okay if you've never seen it, but you should check it out on Hulu at some point. Endless thanks to my (many) betas: duendeoflorien, iamtheenemy, lyo, marksykins and novembersnow. Special thanks to femmequixotic for putting up with my never-ending emails, twitters, direct messages, tense changes, POV shifts, and especially for posting this on my date, since I'm hiding away on an island in the middle of a river.

Once upon a time, in a city that kept the secrets of all who visited and all who lived there, a typical—if slightly peculiar—American man was walking along the street, peering in the shop windows when he bumped into a very typical red-blooded American man who was peering not at the windows, but into his camera.

They smiled at each other and went on their way, the incident forgotten until a few hours later when it happened again, this time in a store where the peculiar young man was trying on a paisley button-down shirt and the other man accidentally opened his dressing room door. The men blushed and smiled at each other, and continued to smile to themselves after the door was once again closed.

Later that evening, though, as the gentleman with the camera asked the maître d' for a table for one, he suddenly spotted a familiar paisley shirt walking through the hotel lobby. Begging the host's pardon, he ran after the man and invited him to dinner. The two men sat and talked for hours, discovering a shared love of music and animals, as well as enough interest in photography and literature to keep the conversation flowing until they were politely asked to leave the restaurant, as it was two in the morning.

Not wanting to seem forward, neither man invited the other up to his room. Instead they walked the streets of the city, one taking pictures of people and things as the other told stories about the same. When the sun began to rise, however, neither man noticed; they were too busy sharing their first kiss.

Over the course of the next few days, the pattern continued. They went to concerts—and kissed. They went to photography galleries—and kissed. The zoo—and kissed. Until one day, the two found themselves outside a chapel where Liberace and Elton John would happily pronounce them husband and husband.

All in all, a very typical, albeit rushed, courtship. Except for the fact that one of the typical American men wasn't so typical after all.

For that peculiar young man who adored paisley was actually a _warlock_.

And if there is one thing a newly married warlock doesn't need on his wedding night, it's his overprotective and slightly bitchy best friend, who also happens to be a warlock.

***

"Spencer, no. I'm not leaving," Ryan sighed from his spot in front of the vanity table. It really _is_ just like on television, Ryan thought. The room had a big bed, dresser and wardrobe, a balcony that overlooked the bright neon lights of the city. His husband—his _mortal_ husband—was in the bathroom, getting ready for their wedding night. It was everything Ryan had never dreamed of, growing up.

Including Spencer being in the room with him.

"I can't believe you're here," Ryan complained.

"Of course I'm here, Ryan." Spencer stood in front of the balcony, smoke misting around him and Brendon. Leave it to Ryan to get married—to a _mortal_ —on the one night that week he and Brendon had set aside for a non-magic date. Brendon was still holding a bag of popcorn and looking a little nauseated. That could be either the smoke or the popping between space and time, Spencer couldn't tell, but he'd deal with that later.

"Married, Ryan! What the hell are you thinking?" Spencer started to pace the hotel room. "And to a mortal no less!"

"Hey!" Brendon interrupted. "You might want to remember that you're _also_ married to a mortal."

Spencer just waved a hand at him. "Yes, a mortal I've known since we were teenagers, and who comes from a family of witches and warlocks. But this Jerome fellow is a stranger, Ryan."

"His name is Jon, Spencer, and it would be nice if you could remember that," Ryan said sternly. "And keep your voice down, he's just in the bathroom, not Mars."

Brendon's eyes widened. Ryan should _so_ not have said that.

"Oh, I could send him to Mars," Spencer sneered. He raised both his arms, but at a yell from both Brendon and Ryan he lowered them. "Fine," he huffed. Snapping his fingers, a shimmer went through the room as he cast a privacy spell. "Satisfied? Now, we need to get you out of here."

"I said no." Ryan crossed his arms. "I'm not a child, Spencer. I know it was fast, but I love him and he loves me. We're married, and I'm going to move with him back to Chicago and—"

"Chicago!" Both Brendon and Spencer yelled at once. They really were made for each other, Ryan thought fondly. And that's why he married Jon—Jon was made for him. He wasn't boring...he didn't talk incessantly about things that held no interest for him, he was an amazing kisser, and he had the sweetest brown eyes Ryan had ever gazed into. And most importantly, he wasn't a witch or a warlock using a spell to trick him into marriage. Jon loved him, Ryan, without pretense.

"Ryan, would you focus on us, before I send _you_ to Mars." Spencer stopped pacing to glare at Ryan, snapping his fingers in front of Ryan's face. "What about Keltie, Ryan? Three months ago you thought you loved her."

"I thought so, too." Ryan scowled. "Until I caught her adding verbena to my tea! It was all a love spell, you guys, and I'm sick of it."

"You had a _cold_ , you moron," Spencer snapped. "It was to make you less congested. My mom told her to use it!"

"That's what she said, sure," Ryan muttered. "But we all know that it could have made me think I was in love with her, too. Jon can't trick me into marrying him and falling in love. It's real."

"Fine, it's real. You've really gotten over your commitment paranoia and it's _real_." Spencer actually made air quotes around the word real. "What happens when you tell him you're not mortal, that you're a warlock? Huh? He's not going to think this is real, is he? Jebediah will think _you_ cast a love spell."

Ryan glared at him. " _Jon_ ," he said pointedly, "would never think that. And besides, I'm telling him tonight. Before we, y'know." Ryan waved his hand toward the bed, where Brendon sat eating popcorn.

"You haven't had sex yet?" Leave it to Brendon to come right out and say it. Even though Spencer looked shocked, too.

"No," Ryan said primly. "We wanted to wait and not rush into things."

Spencer laughed. "So you got married after four days instead. That's not rushing it, not at all."

"You can mock all you want, Spencer. Jon and I are in love and that's all that matters. He'll love me even after I tell him I'm a warlock." Ryan's voice was tight, like that time when he wanted Spencer to learn drums so they could form a band like The Monkees. Spencer had given in, of course, but—

"And besides," Ryan said imperiously. "I plan on telling him that I'm going to give up my magic."

"You're going to tell him _what_?" Spencer's voice was deadly. Brendon set his popcorn down on the bed and stood, ready to jump between them if need be.

"What?" Ryan had thought a lot about this. "I'm going to try to not use magic for everything. _You_ don't use it all the time. I've seen you wash dishes."

"Yeah, and I've never seen you so much as fill a glass with water," Spencer retorted. "It's different for me, you _know_ that."

"What's _that_ mean?" Brendon demanded.

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes for the man I love." Ryan spoke over Brendon.

"But you love a mortal, Ryan," Spencer started.

"No, really," Brendon interrupted. "I'm sick of this bullshit about mortals. What's wrong with falling in love with one?"

Spencer swallowed thickly, eyes begging Ryan to help him out of the mess he'd created, but Ryan just crossed his legs and smiled innocently. Spencer turned to Brendon, hopeful, but no, Brendon was definitely pouting and glaring at him.

"Brendon, you know I don't mean you when I talk about mortals."

Ryan knew Spencer was so in the doghouse for this. If Brendon were a warlock, he would _literally_ be in the doghouse for this.

"You're different," Spencer added.

"How am I different, Spence?" Brendon asked.

Ryan knew what Spencer meant, but Brendon really needed him to say it, to understand it. Otherwise, they'd be arguing about this for the next fifty years. Ryan was happy, and if Jon made him that way, who were Brendon and Spencer to say otherwise?

"Can't we talk about this later, Brendon? Please?"

"No." Brendon picked his popcorn back up and lowered his gaze to the floor. "I'd like to go home now, please. Can you send me there?"

Shit, shit, fuck. Spencer was in so much trouble. "Brendon, we can go back to the movie—I paused it and everything. The theater is just like we left it, including that crying kid, I bet." Brendon didn't crack a smile or say anything, though.

"You!" Spencer whirled to point at Ryan. "We are not done talking about this. I want to meet this Joshua person—fine, _Jon_ , you both don't have to yell—before you move anywhere. Dinner, our house, Saturday." He stepped up to Brendon and laced their hands together before they disappeared.

"And use a protective spell, Ryan," Spencer intoned from the mirror. "As my mother would say, you have no idea where he's been dipping his wick." Ryan stuck his tongue out before Spencer vanished, but wiggled his nose toward the bathroom anyway. It couldn't hurt to be safe, after all.

***

Jon stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Married. He still couldn't believe it. No one back home would believe it, not until they met Ryan. Then they would understand. Ryan was perfect for Jon. He played guitar, he wrote stories, he spoke in this really odd manner sometimes, almost like he had no emotions, but Jon could tell how he felt, every time.

Plus, Ryan was an amazing kisser.

He hadn't heard any noise coming from the bedroom in a few minutes. Jon was somewhat worried that Ryan had fallen asleep, or worse, realized he'd made a horrible mistake and left the hotel completely. Feeling only a little foolish, he pressed his ear to the bathroom door, listening intently.

Nothing. Ryan had left, he had left without telling Jon, which meant that this whole thing was a mistake and—

"Jon?"

And Ryan was knocking on the bathroom door and scaring the crap out of him.

"Hey, um." Jon opened the door with a sheepish grin. "I was just, um. Brushing my hair?"

Ryan nodded, reaching out to push Jon's bangs out of his eyes. "It looks good. I like it all shaggy like this." Ryan tugged gently on the ends before stepping back with a shy smile. "Come out here, I need to talk to you."

Jon watched Ryan's back as he walked toward the bed. He'd taken off his dress shirt, and the plain white t-shirt that was underneath was a stark contrast to the dark brown pants he wore. Jon couldn't wait to get Ryan out of all his clothes, to lay him out on the bed and touch him, and be touched in return.

"Jon!"

He jumped a little, realizing he was still standing in the doorway of the bathroom and Ryan had already settled cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

"Sorry, got distracted." Jon quickly walked across the room to join Ryan. "You're really pretty to look at, you know."

Ryan smiled slightly and ducked his head, but Jon couldn't help but notice that he looked really nervous. "Hey, hey. What's the matter?" Jon touched his fingers to Ryan's chin, tilting his face up. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, you know that,  
right?"

"What?" Ryan scrunched up his nose a little, something Jon found completely adorable. "Oh, no, it's not that. I just." He took a deep breath. "I need to tell you something and it's kind of important, and I really hope you don't hate me after I'm done."

"Ryan, no." Jon grabbed both of Ryan's hands in his. They were shaking a little bit. "I could never hate you. I love you; you're my husband."

Ryan's smile was a little weak, but it was there.

"It's okay, Ryan, you can tell me." Jon stilled as a thought occurred to him. "Is tonight, like, your first time? With a guy? Or at all? Because if it is, it's okay, we can go slow and it'll be great, I promise, and—"

"Shh." Ryan put his hand over Jon's mouth. "I'm not a virgin, Jon, wow. Just, can you not talk until I'm done?"

Jon nodded and Ryan removed his hand, but Jon grabbed it with his again, squeezing it gently. "Seriously, you can tell me." Ryan huffed a sigh and Jon quieted again, hoping he looked contrite.

Ryan took a deep breath and stared down at their joined hands before closing his eyes. Damn Spencer anyway. He hadn't thought Jon would think he was under a spell until Spencer said it, but now it was the only outcome Ryan could envision. He felt Jon let go of his hands and a rough hand caress his cheek, and he leaned into it. Ryan knew it had to be said now.

"I'm a warlock, Jon." There, he said it. He peeked at Jon through his lashes, but Jon was just watching him quietly. "Um. You know, a warlock? Like...spells and stuff?"

"Yeah, okay," Jon smiled at him. "Now what do you really need to tell me?"

"Jon!" Ryan stood up and put his hands on his hips. "I'm a _warlock_. That's what I needed to tell you."

Jon rose and cupped his face. "Okay, you're a warlock. I have an aunt that thinks she's a lighthouse. She goes up on the roof with a flashlight every time it rains."

"What? What does that have to do with—Jon!" Ryan pulled away and walked over to the dressing table, but the mirror was empty. Spencer was probably still arguing with Brendon. Ryan would have to convince Jon on his own. But how?

He whirled, facing Jon. "Are you thirsty?"

Jon shrugged. "Sure, I can get us some champagne, or…" He stopped, because suddenly he was holding a champagne flute in his hand, and there was an ice bucket with a bottle between him and Ryan. And a lot of smoke. "Um. Okay. I must be more tired than I thought, because I know I didn't smoke earlier."

"Oh, would you like a cigarette?" Ryan waved his hand and then Jon wasn't holding a glass of champagne but a cigarette. Jon sat heavily on the bed and put the cigarette in his mouth, before pulling it out to stare at it.

"Ryan, what's going on?"

"Sorry, forgot to light it." Ryan didn't do anything this time, but the cigarette flared in Jon's hand and he threw it to the ground, startled. Except it landed in an ashtray that appeared from nowhere to hover in the air.

Jon ran his hands through his hair, staring at Ryan. "You're a witch?"

To Jon's relief, Ryan shook his head.

"No, witches are female. I'm a warlock," Ryan said softly.

So much for relief, Jon thought. This was like a movie or something. "Okay, hey. So, you're like Harry Potter?"

"Oh, definitely not," Ryan sneered. "Wizards need wands and have to learn their magic. _Real_ witches and warlocks are born with the control. It's natural for us."

"Us? There's more than one of you?" Jon gave in and grabbed the cigarette from the ashtray. Magic or no, he needed a smoke.

"Of course there's more than one of us! How else would I have been born?" Ryan sat next to Jon, putting his hand on Jon's knee. "Please, don't be upset. I wanted to tell you, I did, but it was so nice these past few days, just you and I, no magic involved."

"No magic, right." Jon took a long drag, thinking. A warlock. Ryan was a warlock. His _husband_ , Ryan, was a warlock. Okay. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryan wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Surely Jon wasn't taking the news this easily, was he? "So...we're alright? You don't want a divorce?"

"What?" Jon dropped the cigarette into the ashtray floating— _floating, Christ_ —next to them. "Ryan, no, I don't want a divorce. I love you."

Ryan smiled, a blinding grin that Jon had only seen once before, after their first kiss.

"So, do you have a broom? And a pointy hat?"

Ryan's grin vanished in an instant. "I knew you didn't believe me."

"No, I do, I just have questions." Jon took a chance, and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on Ryan's lips. "They can wait, though." He kissed Ryan again.

"Oh?" Ryan couldn't believe his confession had been this easy. "Are you sure? I'll answer any question you have." Ryan rubbed his nose along Jon's, loving the feel of Jon's whiskers against his mostly smooth cheek.

"Yeah, I think our wedding night is much more important." Jon wondered if Ryan had put a spell on him, because he didn't remember ever feeling this way before. He didn't really care, though, if it meant he got to kiss Ryan like this every day.

"Maybe we should use this bed for something other than sitting," Ryan whispered against Jon's lips as he pulled Jon down on top of him.

***

Ryan shifted in his sleep, tilting his face into Jon's shoulder and out of the sun's rays that were filtering in through the parted curtain. Jon watched him for a minute or two, thinking. What the hell had he gotten himself into on this trip? He was supposed to be here photographing a romantic week in Las Vegas for the firm's campaign, not being romanced himself. By a warlock. He'd married a _warlock_.

But Ryan was still Ryan, wasn't he? The same guy he'd run into earlier that week, the one who loved the Beatles and poetry, dogs _and_ cats, just like Jon. The same guy with big brown eyes Jon could look into forever, whose hands had been all over Jon's body the night before. The same guy who felt like home when Jon slid inside him, and who'd been so eager to return the favor just a few hours later.

Jon slid out from under Ryan's arm, putting his pillow next to Ryan for him to cling to. It was his classic morning-after move, dressing silently then sneaking out. Except this time he just tugged on his boxers and grabbed his phone and smokes before tiptoeing to the balcony.

He leaned against the railing while he smoked, watching the never ending traffic below, people seeking fame and fortune, or just hoping not to lose what they came with. It was ten in the morning, noon in Chicago. Late enough that Tom just might be awake to answer the phone. He stubbed the cigarette out on the railing before dropping it on the floor.

"Jonny?" Tom's voice was groggy and full of sleep, and Jon hadn't been so glad to hear it since the time he'd called Tom from the police station after a minor misunderstanding involving an undercover cop and some weed.

"Yeah, hey." Jon lit another cigarette, exhaling into the phone. "So, I kinda eloped last night."

"No shit, really?" Very little fazed Tom, that's why he was Jon's best friend. "Is he hot? Were you drunk?"

"Very," Jon laughed. "Hot, I mean. Wasn't drunk at all." He took another drag. "Or stoned, for that matter. It's actually been a pretty sober week." Jon almost wished it hadn't been, so he could blame everything that had happened on being under the influence. Then he turned and saw Ryan through the open door. He'd rolled onto his side in his sleep, facing the balcony, and the sheet pooled around his hips.

Nope, this was all on him, Jon thought as he sat on the concrete floor, back propped on the railing.

"Then what's the problem, Jonny?" The flick of a lighter came through the line as Tom lit his own cigarette. "Do you love him?"

"Yeah," Jon replied. "I really do." He clenched the cigarette in his teeth as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "He confessed something after we got married, though."

"Oh, man," Tom whistled in astonishment. "Was he really a she? Did he do it for a green card?"

Jon chuckled. "What? Where do you come up with this shit?"

"Dude, I saw both on Oprah, don't tell me it doesn't happen."

"No, that's not it." Jon sighed, looking at the long line of Ryan's body. "He's a warlock." Better to just say it, right?

"A what?" Tom coughed. "It sounded like you said a warrior."

"Ha, no," Jon paused. "A warlock. Like a male witch?"

"Huh," Tom replied.

"Huh? That's all you're going to say?"

"Christ, Jonny, what do you want me to say?" Tom lit another cigarette. "You wake me up first thing in the morning and tell me you married Harry Potter. I'm being supportive."

"He's not a wizard, Tom. They're different." Jon couldn't believe he was having this conversation. He stubbed his cigarette out on the floor, setting the butt aside with the first so he wouldn't step on them later. "His people are born with the magic, they don't have to learn it. Or use wands. He made things appear out of nowhere!"

"Okay, okay." Tom was quiet for a few seconds. "Is he like that shitty movie? Warlock, that's it! Oh, fuck, is he going to cut out your tongue?"

"Oh my God, we're hanging up now." Jon watched Ryan stretch before sitting up, looking around the room, presumably for him. Jon waved when their eyes met. "Um. Marley okay? And the cats?"

"Wow, you _are_ into this guy, not remembering to ask about your pets until the end of the conversation." Tom laughed. "They're fine. Marley's having a ball hanging out with me and Sean. The cats haven't turned your place into a kingdom of evil yet, though I still don't think they like me."

"Clover likes you just fine; Dylan's the one to watch out for." Jon's mouth watered at the display of sinew and muscle moving as Ryan stretched indolently. "I gotta go, he's awake. I'll call you when we get back home, okay?"

Tom sighed. "Yeah, do that. And Jon?" There was a pause, and Jon could practically hear him trying to choose his words. "Be careful, okay? Not just, like, because he can magic you dead or something. But...make sure he's the one before you bring him home."

Jon murmured good-bye and hung up. Ryan had gotten out of bed and was walking around the room naked, his hair disheveled, marks from Jon's mouth on his hips. He thought of how boring his life had been only a few weeks ago, how lonely and listless he'd felt, compared to the way he'd felt since he met Ryan. He tried to picture a future that was like the past and he felt his heart ache suddenly in his chest.

"Yeah," Jon whispered to himself. "He's the one."

***

Ryan puttered about the hotel room, trying not to pace. Jon had gotten up fifteen minutes earlier and gone out on the balcony, leaving Ryan his pillow. Ryan had been awake already, but kept his eyes closed for some reason. Watching Jon on the phone while pretending to sleep probably wasn't the best way to start out his first full day of married life, but he'd make up for it.

He still planned to tell Jon he was giving up his magic. It would be the best course of action—he could be the perfect suburban househusband without any spells. Jon would be happy and it would keep Ryan busy, learning how to do things without magic. Jon would have his job, and Ryan could travel with him if he wanted to—the mortal way, on trains and planes—and Ryan could keep house and write a book, just like he'd always wanted.

If Spencer could do it sometimes, then Ryan could do it all the time. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Ryan went into the bathroom and waved his hand absently, starting the water running for a shower. It wasn't until after he'd glanced in the mirror to make sure he'd gotten rid of his stubble with a twitch of his nose that he realized what he'd done.

Alright, so maybe giving up magic would be a little more difficult than he thought, he admitted to himself as he climbed into the shower.

He stood under the steaming water, eyes closed, imagining life in Jon's house in Chicago. He'd seen pictures, knew the names of Jon's pets, and wondered if he'd be able to learn how to cook easily enough.

"What're you thinking about?" Jon's head poked around the edge of the shower curtain, his eyes dark as he looked Ryan up and down.

Ryan blinked, startled out of his domestic fantasy and a little turned on by Jon's blatant ogling. He extended a hand to pull Jon under the spray with him. "About Chicago. What it will be like to live there, in your house."

"Our house," Jon replied quickly. "Everything I have is yours now, too."

Ryan ducked his head to hide his grin. "It goes both ways, you know."

"Yeah?" Jon beamed at him. "Cool. That's the sign of a great marriage." He reached behind Ryan to grab the shampoo off the shelf, squirting some into his palm. "I don't have to be back there for a few more days, so we can go to your place and pack up whatever you want to bring right now, have the rest shipped." He pushed closer to Ryan, smirking as he set the shampoo back down.

"Um," Ryan paused. Jon had started to massage shampoo into Ryan's hair, causing Ryan to lose track of what he wanted to say. "It won't be that hard, I don't think. I can get everything packed in a few minutes, really." He broke off into a groan, partly from the feel of Jon's hands pressed into the top of his neck, but more because he completely failed at this no magic thing already.

"Oh, that easy for you?" Jon tilted Ryan's head back under the water, pushing the suds off Ryan's forehead as the water cascaded over his hair. "Can you just, like, blink and have it all magically packed?"

Ryan didn't say anything, trying to tell if Jon was making fun of him. Jon ran his hand down to cup Ryan's cheek, tipping his head forward until their eyes met.

"Hey, hey," Jon whispered. "I believe you, I do."

Ryan sagged with relief and pulled Jon into a tight hug. "I can do that. But I don't have to. I can pack things in boxes and suitcases." He paused, swallowed. "I can live without magic and be a normal husband for you."

"Whoa, what?" Jon took a step back, but he left his hands on Ryan's shoulders. "Why would you do that? Do you think that's what I want?"

Ryan shrugged. "You're a mortal, Jon. I just want to fit in with your world, make it easy for you." He stepped to the side and tugged Jon until their positions were reversed. "I can learn to do things without magic." He started to wave his hand for the shampoo and stopped himself. "Damn it," Ryan whispered.

"Ryan, no." Jon kissed him, hard, quick. "I want you to be you. You can use your magic. Maybe, like, not in front of people we know. Or don't know."

"Well, it's not like I flaunt it in front of strangers, you know. I do know how to be careful." Ryan ran a hand through his hair. "We—non-mortals—we don't exactly broadcast it, but we're not ashamed of it."

"That makes sense." Jon hesitated "I want you to be you. No changing just because you think it's what I want.

"Really?" Ryan looked at Jon, water pouring down around them. "So this doesn't freak you out?" He waved his hand and a dollop of shampoo appeared. He started to wash Jon's hair for him. "Or this?" Ryan twitched his nose and the shower began to fill with steam, a soft lavender and vanilla smell surrounding them.

Jon's eyes were wide, but he didn't look too alarmed. "Um. It'll take getting used to, but I will. Eventually."

Ryan smiled. "Then I'm pretty sure I can be packed and have all my things at our house before we're even out of the shower." He ran his hands through Jon's hair.

"Wow, really? Because we're almost done in here."

Ryan kissed him lightly, running suddenly soapy hands down Jon's chest toward his stomach. "No, I think there's a few spots that still need some attention."

***

"Can you get this?" Brendon tipped the bottle of Cabernet toward Spencer with a grimace, balancing the tray of Camembert and French bread in his other hand. Spencer looked up from the grill where he was checking on dinner and smiled, tapping the bottle to remove the cork.

Brendon smiled at him, quick, before setting everything down on the table. They were eating outdoors that night, lights twinkling around the deck and candles flickering on the table. There was a bit of a breeze, but Spencer assured him the candles wouldn't go out. Brendon just wanted everything he could control to be perfect, because he had a suspicion that once Ryan and Jon arrived the entire evening would go to hell.

Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Brendon looked at Spencer, who just shrugged. Ryan had never rung the bell before. Most times he didn't even use the door, just popped in to whatever room they were in. No matter what they were doing, Brendon thought, remembering the last time Ryan showed up, a few days after Spencer's birthday. He'd caught Spencer fucking Brendon against the kitchen wall. Ryan had stammered something about heading into the city for a bit and left just as suddenly as he arrived, letting them finish in private.

The bell rang again, shaking Brendon out of his memory. He walked quickly through the house, straightening cushions on the couch as he passed it, before opening the door with a grin.

"Ryan, no popping in unannounced this time?" He gestured for them to come inside, taking the bouquet of sunflowers from Jon. "Hi, I'm Brendon."

"Hi," Jon smiled, but he looked terribly nervous and didn't let go of Ryan's hand at his side. Brendon couldn't blame him—meeting him and Spence was probably like meeting any other guy's parents or something.

"Jon, Brendon. Brendon, Jon. Where's Spencer?" Ryan looked tense, ready for a fight.

Brendon sighed; it was definitely going to be a long night. "He's on the back deck, being all manly and standing guard over the grill." He turned, walking through the house as he talked over his shoulder. "Jon, I can show you around later if you'd like. But we've got wine and cheese set up outside, and I know Spencer would love to meet you."

Ryan coughed, suspiciously to Brendon's mind, but they followed him into the kitchen. Brendon bent to retrieve a vase from under the sink and heard the screen door open and close behind him. He filled the vase with water, letting Ryan make introductions. Spencer had been warned to be on his best behavior with the only threat Brendon could really hold over a warlock—no sex for a week _and_ he'd tell Spencer's mother that Spencer had been rude to Ryan's new husband. Spencer had even looked appropriately scared for a few seconds before he'd grabbed Brendon around the waist and tickled his stomach.

Brendon turned, holding the sunflowers in front of him. "Okay," he said brightly. "Why don't we go outside?"

Jon smiled at him, but Ryan was too busy glaring at Spencer to say anything. Brendon rolled his eyes at Jon and nodded toward the porch. Jon hesitated, glancing between Ryan and Spencer, until Brendon huffed and went outside. Jon kissed Ryan's cheek before following Brendon and taking a seat at the table.

"Sorry about Spencer," Brendon said as he poured them each a glass of wine. "He's a little protective of Ryan, always has been, since they were kids." He watched Jon slice a few pieces of bread and place cheese delicately on each. "So, tell me something about yourself, Jon."

Jon twirled the wineglass in his fingers. "Um, I work in advertising and marketing design. Mainly print and web-based stuff. I was kind of a half-assed photographer in college, fell into this job through some friends." He shrugged, taking a sip of the wine. "Other than that, I have a dog and two cats. I have a house in the suburbs of Chicago. I play bass, not as much as I'd like. I'm a Virgo."

Brendon laughed; he couldn't help it. "Another Virgo, should've known." At Jon's questioning look he went on. "Ryan and Spencer are, too. Their birthdays were just a week or so ago. I'm an Aries, though. Not that it really matters, but don't tell them that."

Jon frowned into his wineglass. "I didn't know Ryan's birthday was near mine." He paused to take a sip. "I guess there's a lot I don't know," he continued quietly. "It all happened so fast, and felt so right. Like I was under some sort of spell."

"No!" Brendon slapped his hand down on the table. He leaned toward Jon earnestly. "Ryan would never, ever do that. He broke up with his last girlfriend because he thought she had been slipping him verbena—love potion stuff."

"Wait, girlfriend?" Jon had a confused look on his face. "So I'm not under a spell, but Ryan's not gay, either?"

Brendon sighed and put his head on the table.

"I should learn to shut up," he said. "You're not under a spell, no. And Ryan's dated witches _and_ warlocks in the past. It's just the last witch who Ryan thought was using a spell. And she wasn't—she was giving him verbena for his cold. You should know, he's a giant baby when he's sick." He picked his head up to look Jon in the eye. "Seriously, he and Keltie tended toward the on-again, off-again. If the verbena did anything other than clear his sinuses it made things run a bit more smoothly. But, Jon, honestly. Ryan seems really happy with you."

"Yeah?" Jon still looked a bit sad around his eyes.

"Yeah." Brendon smiled and started to build a cheese and cracker sandwich. "Now, while those two are in there arguing—and yes, they're arguing, it's what they do—we should chat." He shoved the triple-decker creation in his mouth. "So, you're a mortal and you find yourself married to a warlock. Any questions?" He hoped he looked apologetic as bits of cracker sprayed out from his mouth.

Jon stared at him for a second before he laughed, brushing crumbs off his sleeve.

***

"I have a question." Spencer pulled the oil and vinegar out of the cupboard, setting them down next to the cruet before turning to face Ryan. Spice bottles and fresh herbs floated to the countertop around him, and a knife began chopping the basil. "What are you going to do in Chicago? I hope this Jerome fellow has a job, a means of supporting the two of you."

"Of course _Jon_ has a job." Ryan didn't look up from the kitchen table, where he appeared to be intently studying a drawing one of Brendon's students had given him. "He works in advertising."

"Doing what?" Spencer glanced through the window at Brendon and Jon; Brendon seemed to be telling an elaborate story involving elephants or possibly the time Spencer tried to skateboard with Brendon without using magic to keep his balance. Either way, Jon was laughing a lot and Brendon was grinning. Spencer almost smiled himself before he remembered he didn't trust this guy and that he'd missed whatever Ryan had said about Jon's job.

"Hmph." There, that should cover it. He turned to the counter, waving his hand to pour the oil, vinegar and all the spices into the cruet before letting it shake gently in midair. "Can you get the salad out for me?"

Ryan sighed and wriggled his nose. The refrigerator door opened and a bowl of salad drifted to the kitchen table, where it settled gently next to Ryan's elbow.

"Wow, thanks for your hard work there," Spencer drawled. "I thought you weren't going to use your magic around Jasper? What will you do when you actually have to get off your ass for something?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "For your information, _Jon_ said he was okay with me using magic." He reached to steal a tomato from the bowl and jerked his hand back as if it were stung. "Ow! That was totally unfair."

"Don't touch the food before we eat! You know that's a rule."

"It's a _Brendon_ rule, and he's outside!" Ryan crossed his arms, pouting a bit.

"Don't change the subject," Spencer said. "Jethro is going to let you use magic? All the time?"

Ryan glared at Spencer. "Careful, or I'll silence you for the rest of the night. And not all the time, no. Like, I shouldn't use it if we're near people who don't know about me."

"What, so the whole city?" Spencer snorted. "That's bullshit, Ryan."

"No, not like that," Ryan bit out. "Just if we have people over, or something. Or like if people will notice—like we were taught growing up, remember? But when it's just us, I can still use it." He bit his lip, thinking. "I don't think I can give it up, anyway. It's too natural."

"Well of course it is," Spencer sighed as he sat next to Ryan and pulled him close with an arm around his shoulder. "We're warlocks. Magic is a part of us."

Ryan was quiet for a minute, his head tilted to rest against Spencer's shoulder. "Do you think Brendon hates us for that?"

Spencer didn't say anything, just pressed a kiss to Ryan's hair as they both looked out the window at their mortal husbands.

***

"Nah, I don't hate them for being warlocks," Brendon said quietly. "Really, they both saved me. I had a hard time growing up with my family...all those kids, and I'm the only one that can't do magic. I know my parents are—were—disappointed." He shrugged. "But Ryan and Spencer didn't care. We all hung out together and they tried to do things without magic for me." Brendon chuckled as he poured them each another glass of wine. "Spencer was better, of course. He kind of likes acting like a mortal sometimes—which can be fun in bed, really. See if you can get Ryan to do that."

Jon blinked at the sudden change in Brendon's tone. "Um, sure?" He knew, now, that Spencer was only a few months younger than Brendon, not older than himself like he'd originally thought. (And that Spencer was even younger than Ryan—he still felt a little weird about just now discovering that Ryan was twenty-five, that their birthdays were so close together, along with Spencer's.) But Brendon had this mischievous air about him, and to see him switch between that and somber seriousness was going to take getting used to.

"So, ah, other than playing mortal in bed, what else does Spencer do?"

"What the hell kind of question is _that_?"

Jon spun around to see Spencer carrying a giant bowl of salad and glaring at him. He was pretty sure that if Brendon hadn't been at the table with him, Jon would've been on fire. Literally.

"It's the kind that means I was talking about sex and Jon was polite enough to try to change the subject." Brendon was smirking at Spencer, which Jon thought a little risky, but then again, he'd already proven he was out of his element. "I wasn't going to let him, of course. I wanted to give him all the lurid details about how you let me tie you up, but—"

"For fuck's sake, Brendon!" A blush dusted over Spencer's cheeks, but his eyes had lost most of their anger.

"Wow, how come I've never walked in on that kind of night?" Ryan looked over at Jon, his mouth twitching a little. "All I ever get to see is Spencer's pale bare ass and Brendon's skinny legs high up in the air."

"Hey!" Brendon and Spencer sounded equally outraged, but whether for themselves or each other Jon couldn't easily tell.

He sat back, listened to them bicker about whether the steaks were done yet. Ryan said yes, Spencer said they were too bloody, and Brendon told them both not to get animal bits on his Portobello. Then they debated if they needed more wine (Spencer rolled his eyes and made three more bottles appear on the table) and about how Ryan forgot the salad dressing inside, which prompted Brendon to get it himself. Jon wondered if Ryan was really going to be able to leave them and move to Chicago with him. Ryan fit here, with his friends, the men he'd made his family.

He hoped Ryan would think of Jon as his family, too.

***

"Your birthday is coming up?" Ryan set his wineglass down in surprise. "Spence and I just had ours. How old will you be?"

"Twenty-six a week from today," Jon replied with a shrug. "Not really a milestone birthday."

Ryan eyes got big. "It is, though. It's your first with me. We'll have to a have a party, a nice dinner. Spencer and Brendon can pop up to be there, right guys? It's a Saturday, Brendon won't have to worry about missing school." They had to come; it would be Ryan's first official hosting experience as a married man.

Brendon shared a glance with Spencer. "Sure we'll come," he said. "Maybe come up Friday night and help get everything ready." He knew all about Ryan's party throwing abilities—there were none. He invited people, and made Spencer organize everything.

"Yes, perfect," Ryan said with delight. "You have friends, right Jon? They should come, too!"

Jon chuckled at Ryan's obvious enthusiasm. "I have friends, yes. Tom, and Pete and Ashlee—they're the couple that live across the street. Probably Bill will want to come." He paused, thinking. "Patrick—my boss—he might come, he and Pete are friends. Oh, and Sean, Tom's boyfriend. Is that too many?"

"That makes ten," Spencer said. "Perfect, I should think. Will Ashlee be uncomfortable being the only girl there?"

"Nah, Ash is one of the guys, really. Has to be, married to Pete." Jon laced his fingers with Ryan's longer ones, resting on Jon's thigh. "You sure you want to come up for this? I mean, I know you don't really think Ryan made the right decision."

Spencer looked a little chagrined at being called out on his distrust of Jon so blatantly, and put his fork down. "Don't get me wrong, it's not you."

"Oh?" Jon raised an eyebrow. "No offense, but you've been calling me by the wrong name all night. That kinda makes me think it _is_ me." Ryan squeezed Jon's hand lightly.

"Okay, that's true," Spencer allowed. "But I'd be this way with anyone Ryan married after years of saying he'd never give in to that archaic tradition."

"You weren't like that with Keltie," Brendon interjected.

Spencer gave him a sideways glance. "I was in the beginning. And luckily they didn't run off and elope."

Ryan coughed, hoping they could drop that line of thought.

"I'm just saying, Jon, that you're taking our best friend away from where he grew up, and if I weren't concerned, I wouldn't be his best friend." Spencer picked up his fork, determined to finish his steak. Grilling was hard work, and had to be done without magic for it to taste right. No matter what Ryan insisted.

"Spencer, I'm not going to Mars, just Chicago." Ryan reached across the table to touch Spencer's hand, preventing the fork from reaching his mouth. "And besides, it's not like you can't get to Chicago just as easily as you can get to Mars."

"What, really?" Jon sat up straighter. "You can go to Mars? Really?"

"In theory," Brendon laughed. "It's something our parents always threatened us with when we were disobeying. 'Don't make me send you to Mars!'"

"I never did meet anyone actually sent there, did you?" Spencer looked between Brendon and Ryan as they both shook their heads. "I think they made it up, but it stuck."

"Oh, well." Jon looked relieved as he took a gulp of wine. Mars! A little different than being sent to his room without dessert.

"Anyway," Ryan drawled. "You two can pop up there whenever you want, as long as you land inside so the neighbors don't see."

Spencer sighed. "I wish you were moving to a magic-friendly neighborhood. It would make this all so much easier to accept."

"There are places like that?" Jon asked. He plucked a tomato off Ryan's plate and popped it in his mouth, grinning cheekily at Ryan's _Hey!_

Spencer found himself smiling, damn it. Ryan hated it when people ate off his plate. For someone so skinny, he hoarded food.

"You're in a place like that," Brendon answered him. "Summerlin is one of the magical suburbs of Vegas. Most big cities have a few. I teach K through eight here."

"Even though you're not..." Jon trailed off, unsure of the etiquette in pointing out Brendon's lack of magical ability.

"Not a warlock, yes." Brendon said. He tried to sound casual about it, but Jon saw Spencer reach over to rub his fingers along the back of Brendon's neck.

"Brendon's a music teacher there," Spencer said proudly. "It's a mixed school," he continued, "a lot of families here are part-mortal."

"So like...Muggle studies?" Jon asked slowly.

"I told you, wizards are hacks!" Ryan said.

Brendon laughed, his head tossed back and the grin Spencer was giving him took Jon's breath away and made his fingers itch for his camera. He knew, instinctually, that once a camera came out, Spencer's grin would get smaller and it made him feel closer to being accepted because of it.

"Okay, okay," Jon agreed, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on Ryan's cheek. "Wizards are hacks, warlocks rule all."

"But, to get back to your question," Brendon said, laughter still in voice, "we do sort of teach the kids that don't have mortal family members how to survive in the mortal world. And vice versa, too, so non-mortal kids will know how to act around people who have no idea magic exists."

"Huh." Jon looked at Ryan. "So that's why you seemed so at ease when we met. I was wondering, y'know, after you confessed."

Ryan shrugged. "It probably didn't hurt that we'd snuck out to the city a lot when we were growing up."

"Gambling?"

"Um," Ryan hesitated. All three of them blushed, much to Jon's amusement. "Sometimes. We went to concerts a lot, and to...other shows."

"Yeah, other shows that were completely boring," Brendon griped. "Who wants to see half-naked women pole dancing?"

Ryan and Spencer stared at him until Brendon stuck his tongue out.

***

"Did you drive here, Ryan?" Spencer asked as he carried the plates into the kitchen, behind Brendon and Jon.

"No, we took a cab," Ryan said as he picked up the cruet. "We should call for one, probably."

Jon looked up from setting down the empty bottles of wine on the counter. "We could, y'know." He twirled his hand in the air. "Pop, or whatever you call it."

"Are you sure you're ready for that? It's pretty weird." Ryan had been dying to show Jon what instant travel was like, but he knew it required a lot of trust, so he hadn't pushed it.

"I still get a little nauseous, and I've been doing it my whole life." Brendon warned. "I mean, it's pretty neat, but you should know that."

"Is it any different than flying?" Jon asked. "On a plane, not a broom," he added hastily.

Brendon and Spencer both nodded their heads, but Ryan just gave him a blank look.

"Ryan! You've never been on a plane?"

"No," Ryan said defensively. "I haven't needed to." He crossed his arms in front of him. He wouldn't admit it, but as much as the idea of it excited him, trusting someone else to fly him around scared him.

"It's hard for me to pop long-distance," Brendon explained. "So we tend to fly when we want to go out of the country, or to the east coast."

"But Chicago's okay?" Jon looked concerned.

Brendon shrugged. "I'll just be careful not to eat or drink beforehand. I should be fine."

"Yeah, we learned that the hard way," Spencer grimaced. "It was not a pretty sight."

Brendon pushed at Spencer's hip, smiling. Jon crossed over to Ryan and pulled his arms away from his chest so he could hold both of Ryan's hands in his.

"I could fly back to Chicago alone, if you want. You can meet me there." He paused, his brow furrowed. "How do you know where to go? Is it like GPS?"

"Sort of? I can explain it later. But it's okay, I'll...I'll fly out with you." Ryan bit his lip. "It'll be safe, right?"

"Very." Jon stepped closer to Ryan, nipping at his earlobes. "And we can have fun on the plane, too."

"Oh?" Ryan tilted his head, giving Jon better access.

"Mmm," Jon murmured. "I've always wanted to join the Mile High Club."

"We can hear you, you realize," Spencer droned.

"And see you," Brendon giggled.

Jon flicked his gaze over Ryan's shoulder and saw Spencer standing behind Brendon, arms wrapped around his waist. They both looked...happy. Fond, Jon thought. Like maybe they were coming around to his presence in their lives.

"We should go," Ryan muttered, turning his head slightly to lick at Jon's neck.

"Yes, you should," Spencer said with a smirk.

Ryan sighed, long used to the suffering he had to endure because of his so-called best friends.

"Okay, just hold onto my hands, and close your eyes. Whatever you do, don't let go, okay?"

Jon nodded, eyes solemn. "Okay."

"Night guys," Brendon said with a small wave. "And Ryan, you have to join that club—it's great."

Jon had just a second to see Spencer's blush before he felt a tug, and he closed his eyes tight. He trusted Ryan, he did. But fuck, this was going to take getting used to.

***

They landed with a jolt and Jon opened his eyes with a gasp, then immediately shut them. Ryan's bedroom was spinning.

"This isn't like flying, this is like being drunk and flying at the same time," he moaned.

"Shh, sit down." Ryan guided him back a few steps until Jon's legs hit the bed and pushed him down. "Take some deep breaths, there you go." He pushed Jon's hair back from his face. "Do you want some tea?"

"No," Jon said quietly. "Just give me a minute. Fuck, that's crazy." He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as he felt his pulse return to normal. "Is it always like that?"

"I don't know," Ryan answered truthfully. "It's different for mortals. I don't really feel a thing when I do it.

"Wow." Jon opened his eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the bright light. Ryan immediately twitched his nose, and the lights dimmed slightly.

"Better?"

Jon nodded. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that," he admitted.

"What, instant travel?" Ryan waved his hand and presented Jon with glass of water.

"No, this." Jon took the water, waving his hand around. "Magic."

Ryan's frowned and he sank to his knees in front of Jon. "I thought you said it was okay. Do you want me to stop?"

"What? No!" Jon reached to set the water on the bedside table before sliding to the ground, kneeling with Ryan. "No, I just meant that it's so...cool." He shrugged, smiled. "I'm a little jealous, really."

"You're sure?"

"Cross my heart," Jon replied, drawing an x over Ryan's heart before settling his hand there, a stupid besotted grin on his face, he assumed. Worth it, though, to see Ryan's similar smile.

"Are you feeling better?" Ryan ran his palms up Jon's chest, to his shoulders.

"Mm-hmm." Jon shuffled forward, slightly awkward, hopefully cute, until their knees were touching. "I know what would make me feel even more better, though."

"Oh?" Ryan rose up to meet his mouth, opening to the touch of Jon's tongue to his lips. Jon tasted of the wine they'd been drinking all night, heady and rich, and Ryan groaned, kissing him harder.

Kissing Jon was unlike any of the other people he'd dated. He knew it was a cliché, but it was true. It was like Jon kissed with his whole body, his whole heart. Ryan felt overwhelmed and on edge faster than he ever felt it before.

Ryan pulled back with gasp, reaching for Jon's belt and fumbling with it. Jon chuckled, stilling his hands.

"If there were ever a time and place for you to use magic, Ryan, I think now is it." Jon grinned at him, and Ryan blinked rapidly.

Right. Magic. He could do magic.

"Maybe I want to take my time undressing you," Ryan teased.

"If you really want that, sure," Jon agreed, running his fingers down Ryan's throat before loosening the tie he wore. "But wouldn't you rather have me naked under you, on the bed?"

Ryan had a sudden vision of Jon beneath him and wiggled his nose. Their clothes were gone; Ryan's folded neatly on the chair in the corner, Jon's piled on the floor in front.

Jon found his hand pressed against skin, felt Ryan's grip on his hips, and smiled.

"We can climb on the bed ourselves, right?"

Ryan pushed to his feet, standing before Jon. "I don't know, I kind of like you right where you are," he said as he ran a hand through Jon's hair before pulling his head forward gently.

***

"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Spencer climbed out of the car at the drop-off in front of the airport. "Did you lock up your place?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Yes, Spencer, it's all set." Just as he'd said he would in the shower a few days ago, Ryan had sent everything he wanted to Chicago already. They left his apartment mostly as-is, so they'd have a place to themselves when they came back to visit.

"Spence, it's not like he can't just come back at any moment." Brendon had a sad smile on his face. "He'll miss us too much, anyway."

"That's right, I will." Ryan pulled Brendon into a tight hug, then Spencer. "And I promise I'll let you know when we get to Jon's."

Jon watched them cling to each other, giving them a few more minutes before he told Ryan they had to go through security yet.

"Go, go," Spencer said, pushing him toward Jon. "Take care of him."

"I will," Jon promised, holding out his hand. Spencer hesitated, then stepped forward to give Jon a brief hug. Ryan looked surprised, Brendon was grinning ear to ear. Jon recovered quickly, patting Spencer's back before wrapping his other arm around Brendon.

"I'll take care of him," Jon said again. "And we'll see you guys on Friday, right?"

Spencer and Brendon nodded, arms around each other. Jon picked up his camera case and slung it over his shoulder, grabbing his luggage with the hand not holding on to Ryan's. They looked at each other silently before Ryan sighed and turned toward the automatic doors.

"See you Friday!" Brendon yelled from behind them. Jon looked over his shoulder with a smile, but Ryan kept walking.

***

"That was the most horrible thing _ever_ ," Ryan said as they walked off the plane. It had been nothing like Ryan had expected. He had no idea how Spencer put up with it.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, for what felt like the millionth time since they'd left Spencer and Brendon at the curb. "It wasn't that bad a flight." There'd only been one spot of turbulence.

"All those people, packed into a tin can." Ryan muttered as they walked through O'Hare. "And the lines and the rudeness of everyone. It's undignified."

Jon stopped, waited until Ryan realized he wasn't next to him anymore and turned back.

"What?" Ryan demanded, pissed off.

"Do you want to go back?" Jon knew he sounded like a child, but he couldn't help it. Ryan had been miserable the entire trip. Hell, since the night before when Jon had been packing his suitcase while Ryan watched.

"Go back?" Ryan sounded surprised. "What do you mean? Do you...did you change your mind?"

"Didn't you?" Jon snapped. "You haven't exactly been acting like you want to be here."

"Jon," Ryan trailed off. He looked at Jon's face, beneath the travel weariness to see the fear beneath. "Oh, no, Jon. I want to be with you. It's just a lot to take in."

"Are you sure?" He hated how his voice sounded, weak and tired. But Jon hoped Ryan was sure. He didn't know what he'd do if Ryan wasn't.

Ryan closed the gap between them, running his fingers through Jon's hair, his favorite thing to do now. "I'm very sure. Now, take me home?"

Jon looked at him for a moment before he nodded. "Okay," he said softly. "Let's go home."

***

"I'm glad I thought to have Tommy drop my car off at the airport," Jon mused as pulled into his driveway. "It was nice playing tour guide as we drove here."

Ryan hummed in agreement, staring through the windshield at the house before him. It was bigger than he'd been expecting, despite the pictures Jon had showed him on his computer. Two stories, painted a soft blue-grey, except for the porch and shutters, which were painted white. There were low shrubs in the front yard, lining the front of the porch and an explosion of color in the flowerpots on the porch steps. There were even two cats peering through the picture window.

All it needed, Ryan thought, was a brightly colored tree, something that bloomed early and flagrantly. A cherry tree, or maybe a magnolia.

"You're quiet again," Jon said as he turned off the car. "It's not too late to change your mind, go back to Vegas."

"No, no." Ryan looked at Jon with bright eyes, and smiled. "It's just...it's beautiful. Not what I was expecting."

"You thought I'd live in a dump?" Jon couldn't resist teasing. He knew it looked a little different than the pictures on his Mac; those had been taken a year ago, before he'd moved in.

Ryan blushed and shrugged. "Not a dump, but not something so...homey. I mean, you've seen my apartment."

"C'mon, let's go in. You can meet the kids." Jon opened his door, taking a second to grab his luggage while Ryan looked around the neighborhood with the same stunned expression.

Jon laughed, he couldn't help it, shaking his head to indicate it wasn't malicious when Ryan focused on him. He started to walk up the sidewalk, waiting for Ryan to follow.

"This is where I grew up," he explained. "Mom and Dad wanted to move somewhere a little smaller, a little less upkeep, a little warmer." He smiled over his shoulder, embarrassed. "I don't know...I couldn't really stand the thought of someone else living here after they moved to Florida, so I bought it." Jon stopped and turned to face Ryan fully. "Shit, my parents. I have to tell them I got married!"

Ryan's eyebrows rose and his eyes went wide. "I have in-laws, oh my God."

"They'll love you just as much as I do," Jon was quick to assure him. "We'll visit them soon. But I should probably call them."

He unlocked the door, gesturing for Ryan to wait on the porch, unconcerned about the cats winding between his legs as he dropped his bags in the entryway.

"Anyway," Jon began.

"It's home," Ryan interrupted softly.

"Yeah. Now," Jon said with a grin, "I believe I get to carry you over the threshold."

Ryan laughed, bemused. "Oh really? What makes you think I'm the bride?"

"I could be the bride," Jon offered. "Think you can pick me up?"

Ryan glanced around them. "I could pick us both up?" He took Jon's hand in his. "Hold on." With a gentle squeeze, Ryan and Jon floated through the door, one after the other, settling gently on the other side.

"There." Ryan kissed Jon, a gentle press of lips before pulling back to smile at him. "We're both the bride _and_ the groom."

"I think I could get used to this magic thing after all," Jon whispered against Ryan's lips as he kicked the door shut with his foot.

***

"Ashlee!" Pete yelled from the living room. "Ash, come here!"

Drying her hands on a dish towel, Ashlee walked up to the window where Pete was peering around the curtain. "What is it?"

"Jon's home. And he brought a guy with him." Pete didn't look back at her, just moved the curtain a few inches so she could see out the window.

"So?" Ashlee looked across the street as Jon opened the door, smiling at the guy with him. "He's kinda cute. What's the big deal?"

"I don't know," Pete admitted. "But there's something funny about him."

"What, that he's wearing a plaid suit jacket?" She stepped back from the window, turning to run a hand over Bronx's hair as he colored at the coffee table.

"No, but that is weird. Just—holy shit!"

"Language, Pete," Ashlee sighed.

"Seriously, Ash!" Pete didn't look away from the scene across the street. "They just _floated_ through the door!"

Ashlee picked up a few toys, dropping them on the couch as she sat down. "Oh? That's nice; they must be happy."

"Not like a metaphor," Pete insisted. "They actually floated. In the air!" He turned to look at her, smiling to see her eyes closed, hands resting on her growing stomach. "I was probably imagining it."

"Mmhmm," Ashlee murmured in agreement, not opening her eyes.

Pete looked back over his shoulder, contemplative, before he settled on the floor at her feet, picking up a crayon from the table. He grinned at Bronx, and started to color.

***

"I told you, all I ever see is your bare ass."

Spencer opened his eyes, looking down at Brendon beneath him. "Please tell me Ryan isn't in the room while we're having sex."

Brendon pushed up on his elbows to peek around Spencer's body. "Not technically; he's in the mirror this time." He collapsed down on the bed. "Hey, Ryan."

"Brendon," Ryan nodded. "Just wanted to let you guys know we made it to Jon's safely."

"Great. You can go now." Spencer held still, hoping.

"Um," Ryan hesitated. "Are you busy?"

"Oh my _God_ , seriously?" Spencer could not believe his life. "Can't this wait, like, ten minutes?"

"Twenty, even," Brendon suggested hopefully, with a slight tilt of his hips and a smug grin up at Spencer.

"Thirty?" Spencer blurted. "Please, thirty? We'll come find you, promise."

"Oh, whatever, like you're gonna take more than five." Ryan sighed. "Come find me when you're done. You come too, Brendon."

Spencer waited, breathing hard for a few seconds. "Is he gone?"

Brendon leaned around Spencer again, and then hitched his legs up higher around Spencer's hips. "Yep. Now, where were we?"

***

Ryan wiped the fog off the mirror and sat on the closed toilet. He was in Chicago, his best friends weren't, and he was _married_. It wasn't like he'd forgotten, he just hadn't quite absorbed the reality of the situation. Ten days ago he hadn't even known Jon, and now they were living together, married. Ten days ago, he was bored with his life and wondering what to do next, and then...

Then he'd met Jon and everything just sort of...clicked. He was happy and felt more alive than ever before. It was right, what they'd done.

So why was he hiding in the bathroom like a scared bride on her wedding night?

He got up and stared at himself in the mirror. Just as he'd suspected—he looked like shit. A quick fix, getting rid of the bags under his eyes, fixing his hair, flattening out the wrinkles in his shirt. Much better.

Ryan opened the door just as Jon was raising his hand to knock.

"Hi." Jon blinked at his hand before shoving it in his pocket with a sheepish grin. "I was just checking to see if you were finding what you need alright." He let his eyes travel over Ryan's body, taking in the non-wrinkled clothes with a smile. "I guess I don't need to worry about that sort of thing, do I?"

"I don't mind you worrying about me," Ryan admitted as he leaned against the doorjamb. "It's nice. It's been a long time since I've had that."

"Don't Spencer and Brendon worry about you all the time?"

"Yeah, but," Ryan paused, biting his lip. "It's different with them. They don't want me to get hurt."

"Neither do I," Jon protested.

Ryan reached out, taking hold of Jon's shirt to pull him closer. "I know that. I just meant that you also worry if I'm happy, or if I can find the toothpaste. I get the feeling I'll be on your mind a fair amount more than I'm on Spencer and Brendon's." He wrapped his arms around Jon's waist in a loose hug.

"They're the family I was given. You and I chose each other."

Jon rubbed his hands up and down Ryan's back softly. "What about your parents? Where are they?"

Ryan laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the hallway. "My mother left when I was little. She was a witch. My dad—he was mortal. They probably wouldn't have lasted as long as they did if it weren't for me." He sighed. "Dad did the best he could, but it was hard, raising a warlock and not having a fucking clue about how to do it."

Jon hummed, but didn't say anything, didn't stop his hands from keeping Ryan calm.

"He worked in Vegas, so he wasn't home a lot. And when he was, he was drunk. Most of the time, anyway." Ryan pressed closer to Jon. "I watched a lot of television, old sitcoms. Hung out with Brendon and Spencer, Spencer's family."

"Where's your dad now?" Jon asked softly.

"Dead. About five years ago." Ryan's voice had that monotone quality to it that Jon had noticed the first day they met. He hadn't heard it that much since.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered. He didn't offer more sympathy than that; it had been long enough that he didn't think Ryan would take it any other way than empty platitudes.

"Your dad loved you, Ryan."

Jon jumped, spinning around to an empty hallway. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah," Ryan coughed. "Um, Spencer and Brendon are in your picture over there." He pointed to a framed photograph of Navy Pier that hung opposite.

"Holy shit," Jon exhaled. "I didn't know you could do that!" Spencer rolled his eyes, but Brendon grinned and waved.

"Yeah, Spence and Ryan can appear anywhere. I was in the supermarket once and Spence showed up on a box of Pop-Tarts to remind me to buy whipped cream." Brendon's face contorted in a grimace. "Why'd you pinch me?"

"To keep you from telling the rest of that story," Spencer said, exasperated. "They don't need to know our business."

"Didn't I just see your business five minutes ago?" Ryan wondered. "Told you it wouldn't take that long."

"You," Spencer intoned, pointing at Ryan. "Shut up. It's been twenty-five minutes and you know it."

"We would've been here ten minutes ago, but he took a long time in the bathroom." Brendon scooted out of Spencer's reach with a cheeky grin. "It's totally not Spencer's fault, though. I did this thing with my—."

"Brendon!" Spencer and Ryan yelled at the same time. Brendon looked innocently bewildered, but Jon got the feeling they'd been listening to the conversation about Ryan's family for a while and Brendon was just trying to lighten the mood.

"So, ah, what brings you guys to my hallway?" Jon was a master at going with the flow. It was absolutely not strange to talk to people inside a frame.

"Ryan sort of interrupted us earlier, and we're just returning the favor." Spencer looked between Jon and Ryan, leaning against the wall opposite, shoulders pressed together and hands clasped. "Settling in okay?"

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Not like I have a lot to do. I was all unpacked before I got here."

"He had it easy," Jon joked. "I have to do some laundry, make sure I have something to wear to work tomorrow."

"You have to work tomorrow?" Ryan asked, surprised. "I thought we'd have a few more days to, y'know."

"Fuck like newlyweds?" Brendon supplied helpfully.

"If you must put it that way, yes," Ryan replied.

Jon turned toward Ryan, his free hand immediately toying with a button on Ryan's shirt. "I would if I could, trust me. But I've been gone for ten days. I need to get back, meet with Patrick about this campaign I was shooting for."

"Speaking of which, Brendon, don't you have tests to grade?" Spencer poked Brendon's side.

"No, I—ow!" Brendon's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah, right! I have tests to grade!"

Jon pressed his smile to Ryan's shoulder, trying to hide it from Spencer. Acceptance was one thing, but it was probably still too soon for mocking.

"We'll see you Friday!" Ryan waved at the frame.

"You all right?" Jon asked after they'd disappeared.

"Yeah." Ryan moved from the wall toward Jon's bedroom, pulling Jon along by the hem of his shirt. "Show me your bed, husband of mine."

"Ryan," Jon groaned. "I have to do—laundry." Jon's voice trailed off as he saw all the clothes cleaned, piled neatly on the dresser and hanging in the open closet.

"Yeah, definitely getting used to the magic thing," Jon said right before he tackled Ryan to the bed.

***

Pete pushed the doorbell, catching a piece of mail before it finished the fall to the porch. He hummed a bit of off-key nonsense, waiting, until he hit the bell several times in a row, short staccato bursts coming faintly from inside. He knew Jon and this Magic Guy were still home; he hadn't seen them leave.

Unless—dude—unless this Magic Guy Mary Poppinsed them out through the chimney. That would be cool, though highly inconvenient to keeping tabs on him. Pete hopped down the steps to peer up at the roof, but he couldn't see the chimney from where he stood.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi," Pete flashed a half-grin, the one Ashlee promised him was less scary than his biggest grin. "You must be Magic Guy. I'm Pete." He walked up the steps with his arm outstretched for a handshake.

Magic Guy gave him a blank stare. "I'm sorry, who must I be?"

Whoa, blank stare and a monotone. Magic Guy was _cold_. What was Jon doing with him?

"Um, Strange Guy?" Pete dropped his hand awkwardly to his side. "Is Jon home? I brought him the mail from when he was gone." Pete waved the stack with his left hand, and started to fumble when pieces slipped out of the pile. Magic Guy watched without changing his expression or offering to help.

"I can take it," Magic Guy replied. He went to take the mail from Pete's hand but Pete pulled his hand back at the last second. Magic Guy's brow furrowed.

"Dude, no offense, but I don't even know you." Pete shifted to hold the mail behind his back. "That would be mail fraud, handing it over to you."

"Ry? Who was at the door?" Jon walked up behind Magic Guy, shirt half-buttoned and sporting definite sex hair. Which was weird, because Magic Guy absolutely did not look like he'd been having sex.

"Pete!" Jon grinned, stepping around Magic Guy to give him a hug. "You've met Ryan!"

"If you can call it that," Pete said, resisting the urge to make a face over Jon's shoulder at Ryan's scowl.

"Well, here, let me." Jon stepped back to Ryan, slinging an arm around his waist. "Pete, this is my husband, Ryan. Ryan, this is—"

"Pete, yes, I gathered." Ryan said drily. "Nice to meet you." He stuck his hand out, which Pete was totally nice enough to accept.

"Husband, dude? You were only gone, like, eight days."

"Ten, but yeah," Jon beamed. "We kept bumping into each other one day—literally—and, you know," he trailed off with a shrug.

"It was like magic," Ryan input, a small uplift to the corner of his mouth.

Like a secret, Pete thought.

"Wow. Wait'll I tell Ash about this." And about how Ryan is obviously not what he appears to be.

"How's she holding up?"

"Good, good. Getting bigger by the day. A little bitchier, too, but don't tell her I said that." Pete said jokingly.

"Pete's wife Ashlee is expecting their second kid," Jon explained to Ryan. "Which reminds me, I picked up a present for Bronx, let me go get it."

"I put it on top of your dresser," Ryan said. Jon ducked back into the house and Ryan stared at Pete, silently.

"Um, what'd you do with Jon's dog?" Pete finally asked.

Ryan actually looked shocked for a second before his face slid back to stone. "Tom has him until tomorrow, why? What did you _think_ I'd done with Marley?"

"Nothing, dude." Pete wished Jon would hurry up. "It just seemed weird that Tom didn't pick Jon up at the airport like he normally does."

Ryan narrowed his eyes and started to say something, but Jon came out on the porch carrying a colorful box.

"It's a set of building blocks that look like Vegas." Jon explained, looking between Pete and Ryan. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing," Ryan said with a smile. "Pete was just saying he had to get going, and wanted to give us the mail."

"Yeah, gotta get home to the little woman, you know how it is," Pete laughed. "Thanks for these, Bronx'll love them." He handed over the mail as Jon passed over the box.

"Right, thanks, man!" Jon glanced through the pile as he continued to talk. "Oh, hey, we're having a birthday dinner for me this Saturday. Some of Ryan's friends are coming in from Vegas, and I'll probably invite Patrick and Tom and Sean and Bill. Think you and Ash can make it?" Jon looked up with a hopeful smile.

"Sure," Pete said. "Count us in. I'll get my folks to babysit." He looked at Ryan. "I'm sure Ashlee will love to meet you."

"I can't wait," Ryan said.

"Great!" Pete clapped his hands. "Well, like I said, I gotta go. We'll see you Saturday."

He walked down the porch steps, only a little hesitant to turn his back on Ryan. Jon surely wouldn't let Ryan do anything to his friends, right? Pete took extra care crossing the quiet street, however.

"What's the matter?" Jon whispered to Ryan as they watched Pete walk away.

"I don't know," Ryan admitted with a sigh. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think he suspected something."

"About, you know?" Jon indicated Ryan's magic with a wave of his hand between them.

"Yeah, maybe." Ryan was silent for a few moments. "It's probably just my imagination. Let's go up to bed."

He let Jon lead them back inside, but couldn't resist one last glance through the front window across the street to Pete and Ashlee's house before he went up the stairs.

***

When the doorbell chimed a third time, Ryan let out a groan of frustration before marking his place in Jon's copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ and sending it up to hide under the bed. Jon still wasn't home from work and what no one witnessed no one could mock—it was a captivating book, even if it didn't change Ryan's mind that wizards were hacks. And if Pete was at the door again, Ryan wasn't sure what he'd do...Pete didn't seem like a bad guy; in fact, Ryan was sure they'd get along if Pete didn't seem to already suspect—

Damn it, the door. Ryan knew there was something he was supposed to be doing.

"Can I help—" He was interrupted by a black dog jumping up, pawing at Ryan's stomach. "Hey, fella, you must be Marley!" He grinned, bending over to rub his hands behind Marley's ears.

"And you must be Ryan."

Ryan looked up, taking in the faded jeans that weren't too tight but clung in the right places, the white t-shirt and ratty hoodie. His breath caught when his eyes landed on the scruffy beard and hair, perfect lips, nose ring and messy hair. Jon's best friend was _gorgeous_ , and was Ryan glad (and a little shocked) that Jon had never dated Tom. Ryan would have some serious jealousy and insecurities around Tom if that were the case.

"Hi," he finally responded, straightening. "You must be Tom." Ryan held out the hand that wasn't petting Marley.

"I am," Tom smiled, shaking Ryan's hand. "So you're Jon's new husband."

"Ryan, yeah." He shook his head. "Which you knew, right. Um." Ryan was completely flustered, thankful for Marley's sudden bark as he took off after Dylan and Clover. "Oh! You should come inside. I don't know when Jon—"

"He'll be home in about five minutes." Tom shrugged as he shut the door behind them. "Yeah, he called to tell me to come on over and that he'd be right behind me."

Ryan stood in the living room, watching as Tom made himself at home, settling into the corner of the couch where Ryan had been sitting just moments ago. Like he belonged there. Then again, Ryan _was_ the new guy in this scenario—if Jon and Tom grew up together, then Tom had probably been sitting in that exact same spot forever.

Tom coughed, snapping Ryan out of his daze. "Sorry! Do you want something to drink?"

"Beer would great," Tom said, leaning back when Clover jumped on his lap. "Do you want help?"

"No, no. I'll be right back." Ryan walked into the kitchen, wondering if there was even any beer in Jon's refrigerator. It wasn't as if they'd gone to the grocery store and Ryan had been so wrapped up in the book that he hadn't eaten since he'd had breakfast with Jon.

It was just as he'd suspected—one beer left. He looked at it, then glanced back toward the living room. There—the entire bottom shelf was now full of beer. Ryan sighed, thankful that Jon hadn't made him promise to give up magic. He grabbed another bottle before heading back to Tom, remembering to make the caps disappear right before he turned the corner.

"So, is this when I get to pump you for information about Jon?" Ryan set Tom's beer next to where he was fiddling with something on the coffee table, Clover purring contentedly next to him.

Tom didn't look up, but Ryan thought he could see a hint of a smile through his hair. "You can ask me anything you want, but I can't make any promises. Especially if the answer would get me in trouble." He glanced up at that, definitely smiling. Ryan was pretty sure Tom and Jon had the type of history he had with Brendon and Spencer—best friends with enough blackmail material for a lifetime.

"Oh, I wouldn't want that," Ryan said impishly. "For now you should just tell me why you and Jon never hooked up."

Tom stopped what he was doing completely to look directly at Ryan. "Isn't that something Jon should tell you?"

"I haven't asked him yet," Ryan answered with a smirk. "Besides, I have a feeling your story would be much more honest."

"I...is that Jon's car?" Tom wiped his hands on his thighs, then grabbed his beer, taking a few long swallows. Ryan looked at him quizzically, but before he could say anything else, Jon opened the door, and Marley came bounding back into the living room.

Ryan watched, silent, as Jon and Tom hugged, hard and tight with mutual slaps on the back and _good to see you_ s. Marley jumped around them, vying for Jon's attention, much the way Ryan wanted to do, but didn't. After so many days of being with Jon non-stop, the past eight hours had been a bit of an adjustment.

Jon stepped away from Tom to smile at Ryan, soft and full of heat. Ryan was sure he was blushing from the attention and then Jon bent over him before he could stand, capturing his mouth with a hot kiss that lasted until Tom cleared his throat pointedly.

Jon was definitely flushed when they pulled apart, running a hand through his hair and smiling.

"Sorry," he said.

"Nah, newlyweds, I get it." Tom waved the situation off, settling back on the couch with a smirk. "Smoke?"

Jon nodded, taking a seat on the couch, Marley already settling at his feet before he paused. "Um, hmm. Ryan? Do you mind?"

"Mind what?" Ryan asked.

"If I smoke with Tom. You can, too, if you want." Jon thought a second. "Have you ever smoked pot?"

Ryan shook his head. "No, Spencer's mom said that it might not mix well with—" He stopped, biting his lip. "Brendon did it a few times in high school before he got caught, but Spence and I never tried it."

"Do you want to?" Tom held out what looked to be a little pipe. Ryan looked at it, then Jon, then back at the pipe. Brendon had always said it was nice, getting high. But his magic. And if he did something in front of Tom, then his secret would be out and he didn't know what that would mean for Jon.

"Are you worried about, y'know," Jon trailed off, waving his hand in front of him.

"What, will it fuck up the hocus-pocus stuff?" Tom asked.

"You told him?" Ryan asked at the same time Jon hit Tom's arm. "You didn't tell me you told him." Ryan was stunned. Jon should have _told_ Ryan that Tom knew. More than that, it wasn't Jon's secret to tell. Yes, it concerned Jon, but Ryan was the one that was most affected, not Jon.

"I...yeah, I." Jon stumbled over his words. "Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

"What, you don't want to make Tom uncomfortable?" Ryan asked disbelievingly. "Fine then. I'll be in the bedroom." He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

"Whoa," Tom breathed. "He just—holy fuck, he _is_ a wizard."

"Warlock," Jon corrected automatically. "Fuck, Tom, couldn't you keep your mouth shut?" Jon rubbed his hands over his face. He was in so much trouble.

"Dude, this has always been your problem. You don't tell the person you're with the important stuff." Tom flicked his lighter on and off, looking down instead of at Jon. "You might've gotten away with it before, but you're married now."

Jon stared at him. "Tommy," he began.

"No, don't." Tom's face was tired when he finally glanced up. "That was years ago; it's in the past. But your husband is upstairs, waiting."

Jon held his gaze for a moment before standing up from the couch. "We'll be back in a bit. You gonna stick around?"

"Yeah, a bit. Sean's got a late gig tonight" Tom checked the clock on the wall. "I'll stay, as long as it's cool with Ryan. Gotta tell you about the phone call I got from your mom, wanting to know about this man you married and whether he was good enough for her boy."

"You're kidding me," Jon said. "Actually, you're probably not. Sounds like my mom. I'll uh…" Jon looked up at the ceiling and turned, telling Marley to stay. He headed upstairs, hearing the click of the lighter, the hiss of Tom's inhale behind him. He checked each picture frame as he walked past, half expecting Spencer to be there, yelling at him. Instead, he got all the way to his bedroom, more nervous with each step, wondering if Ryan was still there.

Ryan was, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands tucked beneath his legs, head bowed. Jon let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tightness in his chest that he hadn't been aware of until it started to ease.

"Hey," Jon said softly, shutting the door behind him and leaning on it.

Ryan didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you Tom knew." Jon watched Ryan for a reaction, but he just sat there. "Actually, I should've gotten your permission to tell Tom."

"Yes, you should have." Ryan still stared at the throw rug at his feet. "Do you know what it's like, having a secret like mine, something you can't tell just anyone in case they want to hurt you because of it?"

Jon moved to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Ryan. "Um, sort of? But you should tell me what it's like for you."

"Half our ancestors were burnt at the stake." Ryan tilted his head up, meeting Jon's eyes. "We're taught to never trust an outsider, Jon. We talked about this at Brendon and Spencer's. And yet you told Tom and acted like it was no big deal."

Jon took a chance, reached out and pushed a lock Ryan's hair behind his ear, rubbing his thumb on the skin revealed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Have you told anyone else?" Ryan asked quietly. "Your parents? Patrick?"

Jon shook his head. "No, just Tom. The morning after we got married."

Ryan took a deep breath. "Wow, that long ago," he exhaled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I obviously didn't get what a big deal it was." Jon's shoulders drooped. "I should have, though, after that dinner."

"We're married, Jon. That's why I told you—we shouldn't have secrets from each other." Ryan's eyes were big, heartbreaking. "Promise me, no more secrets."

"I'm promise." Jon made an 'x' over his heart, a hopeful smile on his face.

"I think you did that wrong." Ryan reached out and laced his fingers through Jon's, bringing their joined hands to Ryan's heart, tracing an 'x' there.

Jon surged up on to his knees, curling his free hand into Ryan's hair, pulling him into a hard kiss. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered against Ryan's lips. "I'm sorry."

Ryan kissed him back, just as desperate, before he pulled back. "No one else knows?"

"Um," Jon tried to catch his breath. "Unless Tom told Sean, no. And Tom probably didn't tell Sean. He wouldn't, not without—"

"Asking you first," Ryan finished softly. "He's a good guy, Tom."

"One of the best," Jon agreed. "I told him to stick around, is that okay?"

Ryan nodded. "Let's go back downstairs. I want to get to know your best friend."

Jon kissed him, a fast press of lips. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," Ryan said with a smile. "Downstairs, before Tom thinks I turned you into a toad or something."

Ryan stood, pulling Jon to his feet, and gave him another kiss.

"Hey, um," Jon hesitated. "Can we, like, magic our way down there?"

Ryan smirked. "You mean just show up right in front of him and scare him?"

"Yeah?" Jon bit his lip, hoping he hadn't gone too far.

"I think that can be arranged." Ryan laughed. "Hold on," he warned, gripping Jon's hands tighter.

"Holy _fuck_!" Tom yelled, almost falling off the couch. Marley leapt up, barking. Jon started to laugh, and even Ryan had an amused look on his face.

"I take it this means Jon is forgiven?" Tom asked in annoyed tone. He lifted the bowl to his mouth.

"Indeed it does," Jon replied. "But uh...did you tell Sean?" He and Ryan sat on the floor, across the coffee table from Tom.

Tom shook his head. "No," he answered, voice tight from holding his breath. "I wouldn't do that without checking with you guys first." He blew out a stream of smoke, angling his face away from Jon and Ryan.

"Thanks," Ryan said. "I don't want you to keep anything from him, though. So," he trailed off.

"Nah, man." Tom passed the bowl and lighter to Jon. "Meet him first, at Jonny's birthday party. That way you know who knows. Y'know?"

Ryan tilted his head towards Tom in thanks, and watched as Jon set the flame to the bowl and inhaled. Jon took the pipe out of his mouth, keeping his mouth shut. He raised an eyebrow at Ryan, asking silently if he wanted to try it. Ryan bit his lip and nodded. Jon leaned forward, rubbing his nose along Ryan's and pressing their lips together.

Ryan sat there, confused.

"Kiss him," Tom directed with a chuckle. Ryan darted his eyes toward Tom, then back at Jon, who nodded.

Ryan opened his mouth, gasping when Jon opened his, too, exhaling smoke directly into Ryan as their tongues met. It was...weird. Ryan broke off, coughing. Jon put his palm over Ryan's mouth and told him to swallow and hold his breath. Ryan did so until his eyes grew wide and he pulled Jon's hand away, letting out sharp breath.

Jon and Tom looked at him, curious. Ryan shrugged. "I don't really feel anything. Is that normal?"

"It can take a few tries," Tom said. "Here, watch what I do." He took the pipe and bowl from Jon, went through the steps again. "Want to try it this way?" He talked around his breath again.

"Might as well," Ryan sighed. Maybe warlocks just couldn't get high? He took the bowl from Tom, waving off the lighter. He felt more comfortable controlling fire himself.

"Now that's fucking convenient," Tom said.

"You should see the stuff Ryan can do," Jon said proudly.

Ryan rolled his eyes at both of them, lifting the pipe to his mouth. He lit it, inhaling gently until it hurt to breathe. Jon took the pipe from his hand, watching as Ryan held his breath until he exhaled, coughing.

"Want a drink?" Tom asked.

Ryan nodded, eyes watering, and three beers landed with a clink on the coffee table. He grabbed one, taking a long swallow, while Tom complained that it wasn't fair that Jon fell in love with a guy who could make beer appear out of thin air.

"It's not thin air," Ryan giggled. "I just made it move from the fridge to here."

"Since when do we have beer?" Jon asked. "And did you just _giggle_?"

Ryan shrugged. "I conjured some earlier." He leaned into Jon, running his hand up and down Jon's thigh. "I wonder what Ginger was afraid of? Accidental magic, maybe?"

"Was the beer an accident?" Tom looked at his bottle suspiciously.

"No, I snapped my fingers for it." Ryan said patiently.

"Uh, Ry? You didn't snap your fingers." Jon twisted to look at Ryan's face. "Hmm. Make something happen, but don't like, wiggle your nose or do anything."

Ryan blinked at him. "Okay," he drawled. "Um. There." Jon looked down, suddenly only in his underwear.

Tom burst out laughing. "Oh, man, this is awesome."

Jon blushed. "I think maybe pot lessens your control on your magic, so you don't have to think so hard to get something to happen."

Ryan seemed to think about this, looking around the room with wide eyes before they settled on Marley and Clover, curled up together in the corner on Marley's dog bed.

"Where's Dylan?"

Dylan appeared on Marley's back, body curved and tail sticking straight up, all his fur on end.

"Did I do that?" Ryan asked, whipping around to face Jon.

"I think so," Jon laughed as Dylan leapt off Marley and ran back upstairs. "From now on, I think you should only smoke when we're here together."

"And alone," Tom said drily, pointing to Ryan whose shirt had disappeared. "Ryan seems to be in the mood for something I do not need to witness."

Jon looked perplexed and slightly turned on. "Yeah. Can you, ah!" He yelped as a swirl of chocolate sauce dribbled down his chest.

"Yeah, I'll let myself out," Tom laughed. "Ryan, I'll see you Saturday."

Ryan didn't look up from where he was licking Jon's chest as he waved.

"Bye!" Jon got out just before Ryan pushed him to the floor.

Tom was still laughing when he pulled the door shut behind him and walked down the porch steps. He heard a muffled shout from inside and laughed even harder.

***

Ryan waited patiently as Jon finished getting ready for work. He sipped his coffee, watching as Jon moved around the living room, grabbing his laptop and portfolio, shoving them both into his messenger bag.

"Sorry," Jon said, kissing Ryan's cheek. "I didn't realize it was so late. I'm gonna miss the seven-fifteen train if I don't get going."

Ryan gave him a sleepy smile. "I probably shouldn't have joined you in the shower."

"I'm not complaining, trust me," Jon laughed. "Shit, have you seen my memory stick?"

Ryan took another sip of coffee and snapped his fingers, the memory stick landing in Jon's hand.

He looked at it a moment, then shrugged, shoving it into his pocket. "Thanks. Okay, I'll see you tonight." Jon kissed Ryan quickly, a smack of lips, and was out the door before Ryan could even tell him to have a good day.

Marley barked hopefully at the door, tail wagging, puppy eyes imploring Ryan to take him outside. Ryan looked down at his clothes, a pair of old plaid pajama pants and a v-neck tee. He clashed horribly, but Marley started to whine, so he simply waved his hand for a pair of flip-flops and Marley's leash.

"C'mon, boy." Ryan stepped outside and immediately a hoodie patterned with dog bones went on over his shirt. He wondered if he'd ever get used to the cold. It was September—it shouldn't be cold out yet, he reasoned.

Marley tugged on the leash, eager to start his walk. Ryan trudged behind him, blowing on his coffee to warm it up.

"Hey neighbor!"

Ryan groaned to himself, watching as Pete approached from across the street, two English bulldogs in front of him. Marley greeted the other dogs enthusiastically, old friends apparently.

"That's Hemingway, and this is Rigby." Pete pointed to the older dog first. "They're good friends with Marley."

"Pete," Ryan acknowledged. "I didn't expect to see anyone out here." Pete was wearing ridiculously tight jeans—Brendon tight, Ryan thought with a smile—and a t-shirt that had big letters saying _I ♥ BX_ but around the heart appeared to be a bat. Ryan noted with surprise that Pete's arms were covered in tattoos.

Pete shrugged. "I work from home a lot." He fell into step next to Ryan

"Is that a bat?" Ryan asked. He couldn't help himself.

Pete grinned, proud. "Yeah! It's the logo for my company."

"What's your company?" Ryan looked down at Marley as he relieved himself next to someone's mailbox.

"Did you forget a plastic baggie?" Pete bent over to clean up after Rigby.

"Um," Ryan paused. He had to _clean up_ after Marley? This was so different than walking a dog in Summerlin. "No, sorry, just spacey this morning." He shifted his coffee to the hand holding the leash, discretely wiggling his nose as he did so. He pulled a baggie from his hoodie pocket, making a face as he took care of Marley's mess. "Anyway, what do you do?"

"I run Clandestine Industries," Pete replied, shrugging. "Clothing for kids of all ages, from babies to old men in their thirties. You're wearing a Clan hoodie." Pete pointed to the small bat hanging from the zipper.

"Huh." Ryan held his arm out in front of him, taking a closer look at the pattern. Each dog bone had a tiny bat outline on it. "I really like it. It's soft."

"Thanks, man," Pete smiled, not the maniacal grin Ryan was already getting used to. "So, what do you do when you're not entrancing Jon?"

Ryan looked at him sharply, any warm feelings he was getting toward Pete fading. "What do you mean, 'entrancing Jon'?"

Pete's eyes were wide. "Whoa, dude, calm down." They reached the end of the street and turned back toward their houses. "I just meant that none of the guys Jon's dated in a long time have ever been around more than a few weeks. And he certainly never looked so happy with any of them. You've got him under your spell, that's for sure."

Ryan _hmm_ ed, pretty sure Pete's choice of words was intentional, but not meant to scare Ryan. Maybe to subtly let him know that Pete suspected something.

"Anyway, what do you do? Are you a photographer, too?" Pete pulled on the leashes, preventing his dogs from crossing the street back to their house.

"I'm a writer," Ryan answered.

"What kind?" Pete asked before Ryan could continue.

"Short stories, poems, lyrics. But," Ryan paused, but Pete looked really interested so he went on. "There's this idea I have, for a novel. I think I could do it, now."

"Why now?" Pete was genuinely curious.

Ryan thought a moment. "Because I'm happy now," he said simply, stunned to realize it was true. "I'm happy."

Pete smiled. "Yeah, I get that feeling." He looked across the street at his own house. "I gotta help get Bronx ready for the day. Catch you later?"

"Yeah, definitely. Don't forget about Saturday." Ryan reached down to pet Hemingway and Rigby, a small smile on his face.

"Bye, Ryan." Pete crossed the street, whistling. Ryan watched him for a minute, then led Marley back inside.

***

Ryan needed a computer. He knew how they worked, in theory, but had never bothered to get one. He preferred to write in notebooks (Brendon called them his _journals_ , but that was too close to the term diary for Ryan's taste.), with a nice fine-tipped pen. And while that was fine for short stories, he suspected there wasn't enough magic in the world to prevent his hand from cramping while he wrote a novel.

So he needed a computer, and Spencer was just the person to help him pick the best one. He made sure Marley was settled in his dog bed, stuffed hedgehog tucked firmly under his nose. The cats were somewhere, but they had food and water and Jon had insisted that was all they ever really needed. Ryan was good to go.

He wiggled his nose, and found himself sitting on Spencer and Brendon's dresser, watching them sleep. Spencer was curled on his side, practically in a little ball, with Brendon wrapped around him as best he could. Spencer was totally the little spoon, and Ryan was going to use this piece of information for the rest of his life.

Brendon's alarm went off, blaring in the quiet. Spencer groaned, waving a finger to silence it. Ryan eyed them, silently laughing as Spencer whimpered, burrowing into Brendon's arms. Brendon stretched, trailing a hand down Spencer's back, drawing the sheet down.

Ryan sincerely hoped they weren't naked under that sheet, but suspected that was a lost cause.

Brendon's hand wound its way to Spencer's chest, tickling in spots, if Spencer's half-hearted protest was anything to go by. Ryan was a little surprised when Brendon pushed Spencer to his back, and Spencer went willingly, spreading his legs for Brendon to settle between.

Ryan bit his lip, waiting for the precise moment when the sheet fell, revealing Brendon's ass as he bent over Spencer to kiss him. Ryan cleared his throat.

"Brendon, please tell me you just coughed," Spencer said.

"You're kidding me right?" Brendon snapped, twisting around to face Ryan. "You have really got to be fucking kidding me with this right now."

"I'm sorry?" Ryan hoped he looked contrite. "If it is any consolation, your ass is much more pleasing to look at than Spencer's." Brendon made a noise, something like a squawk, Ryan thought, before he grabbed the sheet and covered himself up. Of course, as he slid off to Spencer's side, Spencer had to scramble to keep covered as well. Ryan really had to try very hard not to laugh.

Spencer groaned, flopping back on the pillows. "Ryan, why the fuck are you here at six in the morning?"

"I need your help," Ryan replied.

"Couldn't this help wait until after we have sex?" Brendon asked, knowing the answer.

"You weren't really going to have sex, you have to go to work," Ryan reasoned.

Brendon stared at Ryan. "Why are we friends again?"

"What?" Ryan asked, confused.

"Wait," Brendon said. "You look content. And oddly determined. It's weird." Brendon gave in, turning to give Spencer a brief kiss. "I'm going to take a shower now," he announced. "And since you seem to like my ass, Ross." Brendon threw back the sheet and sauntered into the bathroom naked. Spencer eyed him appreciatively before snapping his gaze back to Ryan.

"Okay, you're not upset, you're not freaking out." Spencer shifted, propping his back against the headboard. "What brings you to my bedroom at this hour?"

Ryan hopped off the dresser and strode to Spencer's closet. "I need you to help me buy a computer. And something for Jon's birthday." He started sorting through the clothes, before pulling out a white shirt with thin purple and light-gray stripes and dark-gray pants, and tossing them on the bed.

"I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? You came all this way and stopped me from having _sex_ because you need to go _shopping_?" Spencer paused. "Are you me?"

"Oh, shut up," Ryan scowled. "I want to write my book," he admitted.

"Wow, really?" Spencer was somber. "I thought you said you couldn't write it until you knew how it ended."

Ryan shrugged. For years he'd talked about a book about a boy who didn't fit in anywhere, who travelled from place to place searching for meaning in his life. Ryan also insisted it wouldn't be a clichéd hack. But he could never decide on an ending, and had never shared his ideas for one with Spencer or Brendon.

"I have a better idea, now." Ryan tried to sound casual, but he knew Spencer could hear the happiness and probably see it written all over his face.

"Could Jarvis have anything to do with that?" Spencer smirked as he said it, to let Ryan know he was only teasing.

"Maybe." Ryan collapsed onto his stomach on the bed next to Spencer, poking him in the leg. "So are you going to help me or not?"

"Don't I always? Now," Spencer paused, swatting Ryan's stupid long fingers away. "Why can't you just conjure up a computer?"

"Because I want to do this the right way," Ryan answered promptly.

"You mean the mortal way," Spencer said bluntly. "Ryan—"

"I'm not doing it this way just because of Jon." Ryan huffed when Spencer rolled his eyes. "I'm _not_ ," he insisted. "But if I _can_ do something Jon's way, I want to try it, too. This seems like an easy way to start."

Spencer nodded. "That sounds suspiciously like compromise."

"Shut up." There was no inflection in Ryan's voice, no heat.

"How will you pay for it?" Spencer asked.

Ryan blinked at him. "Does it still count as buying it the mortal way if I make the cash appear out of nowhere?"

Spencer snorted. "At least make it a credit card. It's more realistic that way." Spencer paused. "Actually, here." He snapped his fingers, handing a black American Express card to Ryan. "Don't go spending it all in one place."

"Ha, ha." Ryan flipped the card over in his fingers. "I probably need a wallet, huh?"

"Seriously, how did you make it to twenty-five?" Spencer handed him a wallet.

"He made it to twenty-five because he had us to babysit him." Brendon walked back into the room, a towel slung low around his hips. "What are you guys gonna do today while I bring home the bacon?"

"Well, now that you said bacon, I imagine Ryan will want to go find breakfast before we do anything else," Spencer said dryly.

Ryan just rolled on to his back, propped up on his elbows. It was true, bacon sounded delicious and he only had coffee that morning with Jon.

"All this way just for breakfast? Isn't Jon feeding you?" Brendon picked up a pair of jeans from the floor and sniffed them. They must not have smelled since he tugged them on, dislodging the towel as he slid them over his ass.

"You teach commando?" Ryan probably shouldn't be surprised. Brendon had a different idea about what was proper than most people.

Brendon shrugged. "It's not like I'm taking off my pants in front of students." He walked over to the closet, flipping hangers to either end. "No, really," he said, voice muffled from inside the closet. "Why are you here, Ry?"

"I'm helping Ryan pick out a computer to buy." Spencer paused. "And possibly a wallet."

"I'm wearing this today, okay?" Brendon picked up the shirt Ryan had tossed on the bed. He didn't wait for Spencer's approval before shrugging it on. It was a little big, but he left it untucked. "So, a computer?"

Ryan nodded. "I'm writing my book."

"Sweet!" Brendon rummaged for socks in his dresser. "I wish I could wear sandals to work. Stupid rules."

"Hey, Bren?" Ryan hoped he sounded casual. "What was it like for you when you smoked pot?"

Brendon looked up at that. "Um. Random topic change for the win." He finally just grabbed a pair of socks from Spencer's much neater drawer, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull them on. "It was good, I guess. Sorta calmed me down."

"Yeah?" Ryan shifted, sitting cross-legged.

"Yeah," Brendon smiled. "Honestly? It felt like I could do magic. Like, I swear to _God_ , I would just think of something and it would happen."

"Huh." Ryan bit his lip while he thought about the previous night.

"Holy shit!" Spencer smacked Ryan's arm. "You totally smoked pot! My mother is going to kill you!"

"Ow," Ryan whined. "And you're not going to tell your mom on me, wow."

"I just might," Spencer sniffed. "I knew Jon was no good for you."

"Oh, whatever, Spencer, you're just jealous." Brendon bounced on the bed, turning to face them more fully. "So, what, your husband's a giant stoner?"

"Um," Ryan thought, scrunching his nose. "I wouldn't say giant, exactly. Tom brought Marley back home last night, and I think this is just something they've always done."

"What happened when you smoked?" Spencer asked, curious. "Did you lose control of your magic like my mom said would happen? I never believed her."

"It was like Brendon said…my magic didn't require anything more than thought. It was kinda hot." Ryan felt his cheeks turn pink at the memory. "Tom left pretty quickly after that."

"Wait, _Tom_ saw you do magic? What the hell, Ryan?" Spencer looked upset. "Since when does Tom know you're a warlock?"

 _"Since…last night?" Ryan hoped he sounded convincing._

 _"Bullshit." Brendon and Spencer replied at the same time._

 _"It helps, when you're lying, to not put the question mark at the end of statement," Brendon continued._

 _"Fine!" Ryan pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Jon told him the morning after we got married." He buried his face in his knees so he wouldn't have to see Spencer's expression._

 _"He did _what_?" Spencer looked pissed. "And you learned this when?"_

"When Tom asked if smoking pot would fuck with my magic," Ryan mumbled. "He was cool with it, though."

"Oh, well if he was _cool_." Spencer did not hide his anger.

Brendon squirmed. "Spencer, it doesn't seem like Ryan is all that upset. Maybe you should let it go."

No one said anything for a bit. Ryan's face was still tucked into his knees and he was playing with the hem of his pants. Spencer had his arms crossed in front of his bare chest, and a mutinous expression on his face. Brendon sighed.

"You know," Brendon began, "I remember pot making me really horny."

Ryan and Spencer looked at him.

"What?" Brendon waggled his eyebrows. "It's true. Don't you remember, Spence?"

Spencer furrowed his brow. "Was that when you cornered me?"

"In the library, yeah!" Brendon grinned.

"At school?" Ryan asked, appalled. Was he around when they did that? Never mind that he spied on them not half an hour earlier, doing it in the school library was just _wrong_.

Spencer laughed, nodding. "Yeah, I was writing my history paper and Brendon came in and grabbed me, pulled me right out of my chair. We, ah. Went to the stacks."

"Next to the _books_?" Ryan looked offended and grossed out. "I used those books, oh my God."

"Oh, whatever, Ryan." Spencer scoffed. "It was in the sports section. You never went in there."

Ryan still looked disgruntled. "That doesn't matter; it's the principle of the thing."

"Don’t worry, Spencer totally swallowed!" Brendon said cheerfully, ducking the pillow Spencer had hitting him from behind. "I don't think it's fair when you don't even _move_ to hit me with a pillow. It's like cheating."

"Don't you need to go to work?" Spencer asked pointedly. "I think Ryan is still traumatized."

"I am," Ryan said gravely. "Very."

Brendon just laughed, before he stood, running his fingers through his hair. He grabbed his wallet from the dresser, shoving it in his back pocket. "All right, I know when I'm not wanted. See you tonight?" He knelt on the bed, kissing Spencer hard on the lips. Ryan didn't look away.

"Told you there was no time for sex," Ryan said smugly.

"Shut up, Ross." Brendon leaned over Spencer to place a wet smacking kiss on Ryan's forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow night!" He laughed as Ryan ran his hand across his brow with a grimace.

Spencer watched Brendon walk out of the bedroom with a fond smile, allowing himself to tip to the side when Ryan shoved him.

"What's that look for?" Ryan asked.

"Oh, nothing. We've just been weird lately and it was nice to be normal this morning," Spencer hedged. "No big deal."

"You sure?" Ryan didn't believe him.

"Yeah," Spencer coughed, clearing his throat. "Breakfast?" He snapped his fingers and climbed out of the bed fully dressed.

***

Ryan checked on the plate of salmon, potatoes and green beans for a fifth time. He hadn't cooked—his skills were definitely not up to this level yet—but he wanted to keep dinner warm for Jon. Especially since Jon was two hours late.

He sat back down, curling up in the overstuffed armchair he'd come to prefer in the short time he'd been at Jon's. He was puttering about with his new MacBook, not actually writing yet, just getting a feel for how he _could_ write on the thing. And truthfully, Ryan wasn't even doing that. He was just trying to distract his brain from coming up with outlandish reasons for Jon not being home. Like maybe it was a horrible accident, or maybe he was having an affair or—

"Ryan?"

Or he was coming in the front door.

"Hey," Ryan stood up, dropping his computer onto the ottoman and stepping forward to claim Jon's lips for a kiss. "How come you're so late?"

"Mmm, wait." Jon kissed him again, slow, dropping his messenger bag to the floor so he could tangle a hand in Ryan's hair. He relaxed, feeling the tension of the past few hours leaving his shoulders a little. "Hi, hey." Jon pulled back with a sigh.

"Hi," Ryan felt like he was out of breath. "How was your day?"

"Ugh, so long." Jon reached down to pick up Dylan, curling around his feet. "Did you take Marley out?"

"Yeah, about an hour ago. He's probably sound asleep on our bed." Ryan bit his lip. "Are you okay? You seem tense." Tense wasn't exactly the word Ryan wanted to use. Distracted and on edge were better, but Ryan didn't want to rock the boat.

Jon nodded. "I had a four o'clock meeting with a new client, the Cobra Corporation. The meeting turned in to drinks with him and his business partner at the bar across the street." He groaned as he sat on the couch. "And _man_ , can they drink, holy shit."

"Did you eat yet? I kept a plate warm for you in the kitchen." Ryan started to walk away, but Jon grabbed his hand, tugging him toward where he was sitting. "What?"

"Just sit with me for a minute," Jon sighed. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Ryan sat, one leg tucked beneath him and the other tapping restlessly on the floor. Something felt off, but Ryan didn't know what. Maybe Jon was always like this after a long day? It's not like Ryan would know. Or…or maybe he hadn't really been with a client.

"Why're you so antsy?" Jon didn't open his eyes, but he squeezed Ryan's hand. "What's the matter?"

Ryan bit his lip. Jon's lisp was more pronounced than usual, which Ryan found a little adorable. But still.

"How come you didn't let me know you were going to be late?" He finally blurted out. "I was starting to worry."

"It's not like I can appear in a picture frame, can I?" Jon wasn't snappish. Just exhausted and a maybe a little tipsy. And sarcastic. "Sorry. But the house doesn't have a landline and you don't have a cell."

"Oh." Ryan thought for a second, still a little annoyed at Jon's comment. "Well, Spencer can help me get one when he's here. I know he has one."

"That'll work." Jon rolled his head to the side and peered at Ryan. "What'd you do all day, besides make dinner?"

"Um, I didn't make it," Ryan admitted. "I had a craving for something other than eggs and toast."

"Did you order in?" Jon hoped it was Thai food. He'd shown Ryan the drawer full of delivery menus the day before and had been craving it since.

"No, just, you know," Ryan trailed off, waving his hand.

"Ah." Jon closed his eyes again. "So what _did_ you do? Anything?"

"Of course!" Ryan bristled. What was Jon's problem? "I walked Marley after you left. Ran into Pete and met his dogs. Then—"

"You didn't, like, turn him into a toad or anything, right?" Jon shifted, letting go of Ryan's hand to prop up his head.

"No, I didn't—what kind of question _is_ that?" Ryan sat up straight, staring at Jon incredulously. Seriously, what the hell?

"A joke," Jon answered, surprised. He sat up, cupped Ryan's cheek with his right hand. "Ryan, come on. It was supposed to be funny."

"Funny?" Ryan twisted his face away, out of Jon's hand. "It wasn't funny at all."

Jon put his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry. I've had a really long day."

Ryan stayed silent, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. He could not believe Jon would even joke about something like that. You _don't_ joke about someone's magical ability—especially if the person making the joke can't do magic.

"Ry. Ryan," Jon pleaded. "Please, I'm sorry. It was a shitty thing to say and obviously not funny at all."

"Do you honestly think I'd turn one of your friends into a _toad_?" Ryan didn't look at Jon as he spoke. "I know you're new to this and all, but joking about something like that...it's like provoking the gods or something."

"Okay, I'm sorry. You're right, I don't know about these things. But you made the same joke about Tom thinking you'd turned me into a toad the other night." Jon touched a tentative hand to Ryan's shoulder. "And of course I don't think you'd really do that to my friends. To _anyone_."

Ryan sighed. "Well. I did it to Spencer once. I was grounded for a month." He turned, facing Jon again. "I need to remember you didn't grow up learning this stuff."

Jon raised his eyebrows, hopeful. "Am I forgiven?" He ran his hand down Ryan's arm, tangling their fingers together once more.

"I guess so," Ryan conceded. He brought their clasped hands up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on Jon's knuckles, smiling when Jon rubbed his finger along Ryan's bottom lip.

"Can you tell me something?" Jon asked.

Ryan nodded, curling into Jon's side as they sank back into the couch cushions.

"Where'd that computer come from?" Jon nodded toward the chair where Ryan's new MacBook sat open, the screen saver shooting stars in their direction.

"That's the other thing I did today," Ryan began. "I went to Spencer and Brendon's after I walked Marley, and Spence helped me pick it out."

"Ah. Why do you need one?" Jon placed a kiss on the top of Ryan's head. He was still a little on edge from their fight. If it even could be called a fight.

"Remember that day we went to the gallery and I told you I had always wanted to write a novel?" Ryan felt Jon's nod, his cheek brushing Ryan's hair. "Well, I think I can do that, now. And I need a computer to do that."

"Did you just?" Jon broke off, waved his free hand in the air.

"Nope!" Ryan smiled into Jon's shoulder. "Spencer took me to the Apple store out there and I bought it."

"You know, I don't think I've seen you pay for anything since we met." It was true, Jon realized. "Do you just, like, snap your fingers and cash appears?"

"Sometimes." Ryan shrugged. "But Spence snapped his this time, and gave me this." Ryan handed Jon his credit card.

Jon stared at the black piece of plastic, awed. "This looks real."

"Well, of course," Ryan explained. "It's not like we can have a card that says 'Magical Bank of Las Vegas' on it, right?"

"So it's not real?" Fuck. His husband was a thief.

"Not technically." Ryan didn't see the problem—it was linked to Ryan's money, somehow. That was one of those details he'd never paid attention to. Things were paid for, and he didn't really have to think about it.

"Ryan!" Jon stood up abruptly, dislodging Ryan, causing him to collapse on the couch where Jon had been. "You _stole_ that! You have to take it back!"

"What?" Ryan pushed himself up to stand in front of Jon. "I don't have to take it back! I went to the store; I gave them my credit card."

"The card that you just said isn't real!" Jon ran a hand through his hair, disbelieving. "Everything you make appear from nowhere—you steal it! What the hell, Ryan?"

Ryan stared at Jon. "Seriously? You're standing there, accusing me—accusing Spencer and everyone with magical abilities—of being a race of _thieves_?"

"If the pointy hat fits," Jon spat out.

"Fuck you." Ryan clenched his hands into fists. He would _not_ punch Jon in the face, no matter how much he wanted to. "I'm going upstairs. Don't bother following me, unless it's to apologize for having your head stuck so far up your ass that you can't see reason."

"Ryan," Jon said, reaching for him. Fuck, that meeting earlier really screwed him up more than he realized.

"No!" Ryan pushed Jon's arms away, blinking rapidly. "Obviously you don't trust me, and right now I don't trust me either."

He snapped his fingers. "I hope you're okay with heating up a can of soup, because all the rest of the food in this house was _stolen_ , wasn't it?"

Ryan spun around and stomped up the stairs. Jon stared at him as he went, wondering he'd managed to fuck up the night so badly. He saw Ryan had left the computer on the chair and went to close the lid when it suddenly disappeared.

Shit.

Jon picked up his bag off the floor and went to the kitchen table. He sighed when he saw the empty plate, and picked it up, surprised that it was still warm. He put it in the sink and went to the fridge to grab a beer.

There was none. In fact, the fridge was practically empty, nothing but some condiments and the remnants of the pizza they'd ordered the night before. Jon took the box out and set it on the counter, but just as he reached for the last two slices, they disappeared, too. Which was bullshit, because Jon totally paid for the pizza with cash.

Jon was so screwed. He grabbed a glass of water and sat at the table, rifling through his notes on the Cobra Corporation. They wanted a sexy campaign, something for their new energy drink that promised greater male virility. Personally, Jon thought it sounded like a load of crap, but with the way business had been going he couldn't afford to fuck this up.

He couldn't concentrate, though. He kept replaying the argument over in his head. From the moment he'd walked in the door he'd been cranky and everything he said had come out wrong.

Christ. Jon had accused his husband of being a thief. Even worse, he'd basically told Ryan he mistrusted him. Didn't believe him or believe _in_ him.

It was kind of a miracle Ryan _hadn't_ turned him into a toad.

Marley bounded into the room, nudging Jon's leg before walking to the back door. Jon rose from the table and let him out, staring out into at the backyard. Summer was over, Jon realized. It was already dark as midnight out and it was only nine. Jon drained his glass of water and whistled for Marley to come back in. He gathered up his papers, shoved them into his bag.

He realized that his house felt empty, that he felt alone. Just like he had for most of the past five years.

Jon looked up at the ceiling, thought about Ryan, lying in their bed, ticked off and alone. Of course, maybe he wasn't even _up_ there. It wasn't like Ryan had to use the door to leave.

Fuck.

Jon ran upstairs, suddenly convinced that Ryan would be gone. He burst through the bedroom door, afraid of what he wouldn't see, but Ryan was there, sitting up in bed, reading.

Ryan looked up at Jon, face impassive. Jon breath left him in a rush, relieved. Ryan dropped his gaze back to his book—he was on the second Harry Potter book already, something Jon didn't dare tease him about right then.

Jon shut the door behind him and went into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth while he stares at himself in the mirror. He looked awful. He felt awful.

When he went back to the bedroom, Ryan had turned off the lights and was on his side, facing the far wall. Jon undressed, still so thankful that Ryan was even in the house that he pushed his disappointment down and crawled into bed.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered, staring through the darkness at the ceiling. "I don't think you're a thief. I never did. I don't really know what my problem was tonight. But when I was downstairs just now...I felt so alone, Ryan. Like I'd felt every night before I met you."

Ryan didn't say anything.

"I was so scared I would get up here and you'd be gone. And I couldn't have blamed you if you had been. I was a dick." Jon sighed. "I love you."

He rolled onto his side, back to Ryan. He didn't know if he'd get any sleep that night.

A few minutes went by, or maybe an hour, Jon couldn't tell. He'd been staring at nothing for a while when the bed shifted, and Ryan curled up behind him.

Jon exhaled, hard and shuddering, at the feel of Ryan's arm wrapped around his waist, and closed his eyes.

***

Ryan stared at the computer screen, the blinking cursor mocking him. Every word he'd written throughout the day wound up deleted within twenty minutes. The tone was all wrong, coming out dejected and full of angst. Not that his novel wouldn't have its fair share of that, but Ryan kept trying to write what was supposed to be a happy scene, beginning at the end, when the protagonist was in a good place.

It had seemed like a good idea when he'd thought of it a few days ago. But then again, Ryan himself had been full of optimism, which was quite unusual for him. Maybe this character wasn't meant to have a happy ending after all.

"Why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?"

Ryan jumped, startled. "God, Brendon, you scared me." He looked at the time, surprised that it was already after six. "I must have lost track of time, sorry."

He stood, stretched, and sent the laptop upstairs. Spencer and Brendon eyed him warily. "What?" Ryan asked, defensive.

"Nothing," Spencer replied. Ryan didn't miss the look he and Brendon shared. "Where's Jon?"

"Um, not home yet, I guess." Ryan shrugged. "He's got some new client and he's been getting home late."

They nodded, not really believing him and Ryan rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair.

"Fine," Ryan said, defeated. He sank back down in his chair. "We had a fight last night and I didn't talk to him this morning before he left. He didn't even wake me to say good-bye."

"Ah." Spencer didn't elaborate, but he also didn't push for more information. He and Brendon sat on the couch, a cushion between them. Brendon looked upset, but Ryan couldn't tell if it was over the fact that Ryan and Jon fought or something else.

"What was the fight about?" Brendon asked gently. His sleeves were pulled down past his wrists, and he played with the cuff of one.

Ryan pulled his legs up onto the chair, making himself as small as possible. It was something Spencer and Brendon had seen him do many times over the years when he was dealing with something he didn't like.

"He accused me of stealing," Ryan said softly. "Said that warlocks are nothing but dirty thieving bastards."

Spencer sat up straight. "What the fuck?"

"Those were his exact words?" Brendon pushed. "I mean, I might not know Jon that well—not like you do, either—but I have a hard time believing that Jon thinks that."

"Well, no," Ryan admitted. "But it was implied. Sort of," he added at Brendon's raised eyebrow.

"I knew this would happen," Spencer burst out. He stood and started to pace. "He's regretting marrying you."

"What?" Ryan didn't think that. Not that he'd admit aloud, anyway.

"Not you, specifically. A warlock," Spencer explained. "My father warned me that a mortal would have trouble being married to a non-mortal. And this proves he was right."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Brendon stepped into Spencer's path. "Your father told you not to marry me, didn't he?"

Spencer stopped short, like he'd forgotten Brendon was in the room. He didn't answer.

He didn't need to, Ryan thought.

"Ryan, I," Brendon hesitated. He looked at Ryan, and Ryan realized Brendon couldn't just leave, couldn't just pop away, and that he was trapped.

Ryan took pity on him and stood up. "Marley!" He yelled and the dog came running into the room, tail wagging. "Brendon, this is Marley. He could probably stand to go play in the backyard." Marley barked and ran toward the kitchen.

Brendon looked at Spencer before whispering his thanks to Ryan. He walked out and Ryan waited until he heard the back door close.

"Spencer, what the hell did you say that for? You swore you'd never tell him that!" Ryan pushed hard at Spencer's shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. "Now he's going to think your father hates him! You know that's not true."

Spencer stared at Ryan, his brow creased and he frowned to match.

"Seriously," Ryan began. "Are you trying to get him to leave you? Because I think it's working."

"Brendon wants kids," Spencer blurted out, desperate.

"And?" Ryan didn't see the problem. He knew Brendon wanted a family, he'd always known.

"And what if we get a non-mortal kid and Brendon ends up hating him?" Spencer sank down to the couch and buried his face in his hands.

Ryan blinked his eyes, shocked.

"Brendon would never hate a child, Spencer." Ryan sat on the floor in front of him, pulled Spencer's hands away from his face. "Why would you be afraid of that?"

"Because Brendon grew up being the only one in his family who couldn't do magic, and you saw what that did to him." Spencer's eyes were wet. "What if that happens to us? We adopt a baby, or two or three, and Brendon ends up being the only one who can't do magic."

"Spencer," Ryan said sadly. "Brendon would love any child you two had, because it would be his _child_ , mortal or not."

Spencer didn't say anything for a few seconds. "What if he felt out of place and left? He left his family."

"Brendon left his family because they couldn't love him the way he is," Ryan corrected him gently. "You're being ridiculous. He knows you love him no matter what."

"Does he?"

"Is this why you've been so anti-mortal lately? You're afraid he's going to leave you!" Ryan was shocked. Of everyone he knew, Spencer and Brendon were the last two people Ryan ever thought would split up.

"What if he does?" Spencer asked quietly.

Ryan cupped Spencer's face in his hands and ran a thumb under Spencer's eye. Neither would ever admit that Ryan was wiping away a tear.

"I think," Ryan started. "I think you need to face your own fears about Brendon leaving you because he can't handle having a warlock family before it turns out that Brendon has left because he can't handle _you_ anymore."

Spencer closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, and Ryan pulled him into a hug so he wouldn't see the desperation that must be on Spencer's face.

***

Jon had just slammed his car door shut, frustrated and exhausted for the second night in a row. The vice-president of Cobra hadn't liked any of his ideas. Jon couldn't really blame her; his ideas had been half-assed, scribbled in a notebook on the train that morning. He looked down the street, noting absently that most of the houses had lights on already.

He heard Marley barking happily in the backyard and went around the side of the house, expecting to see Ryan outside. Jon was surprised to see Brendon instead, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the yard, throwing a ball toward the back fence for Marley to chase after.

Jon checked his watch as he approached. Already twenty to seven. No wonder houses had lights on. Shit, he was so late. And of course there hadn't been any way for him to contact Ryan to let him know.

"You look like you could use a beer," Jon said softly, not wanting to scare Brendon.

Brendon looked up at Jon then back at Marley as he took the ball from his slobbering mouth. "Spencer is starting to hate being married to a mortal." Brendon threw the ball again.

Jon whistled, low. "Maybe more than a beer." He paused, and looked at Brendon contemplatively. "Smoke?"

Brendon bit his lip with a glance toward the house. He nodded, seeming to reach a decision. "Can you get it without them catching you?"

Jon scoffed. "I grew up in this house. Sneaking in and out will so not be a problem."

Brendon nodded again, scratching Marley between his ears when he came trotting back with the ball. Jon rested his hand on Brendon's shoulder without thought and was pleasantly surprised when he felt Brendon relax beneath his touch.

"Be right back." Jon opened the back door quietly, knew just how far to push it before it would creak. He dropped his bag on the floor just inside, using the strap to prevent the screen door from shutting completely.

He stood in the kitchen, listening intently, but could only hear murmurs coming from the living room. Ryan was probably telling Spencer what an asshole he'd ended up marrying and Spencer would, of course, agree with him.

Jon didn't want to admit it, but he'd miss Brendon, and even Spencer, with all his prickly protectiveness, almost as much as he would miss Ryan.

He opened the fridge just as he remembered the fall out from the fight the night before. Jon wasn't expecting to see the inside so full, not just with beer, but a variety of food as well. He felt the tightness in his chest ease just a little.

He grabbed a six-pack of Corona before shutting the door gently. There was a pile of limes in the basket on the counter, and he made quick work of slicing one, putting pieces in a paper towel that he shoved next to a bottle. The drawer on his right still held all he needed to smoke and he put that in his pockets.

Jon looked around, thinking, and grabbed an unopened bag of potato chips from the counter. He had to admit, Ryan was thorough with his method of grocery shopping. Jon probably hadn't had so much of everything he wanted in his house at one time before.

Satisfied, he snuck back out of the house, convinced Ryan and Spencer hadn't even known he was in there to begin with.

***

"Okay," Ryan said. "He's back outside."

"I can't believe you just made all that food appear in there for him," Spencer groused. "After everything he said last night."

Ryan hoped he didn't regret filling Spencer in on the details of the fight. Spencer could hold grudges for the longest time over the stupidest things, and something like this would be enough to get him to never speak to Jon again.

"I told you, until Jon understands more, he's going to have his doubts," Ryan explained again. "In the meantime, he's my husband and it's my fault there was no food in there to begin with."

Spencer snorted. "Yeah, well. At least you conjured Brendon's favorite beer."

"See? It's as much for your husband as it is for mine." Ryan was smug. "Do you think we can go buy a cell phone and be back before they realize we're gone?"

Spencer raised his eyebrow. "Sure? Why?"

"I'll explain once we're done." Ryan grabbed Spencer's hand. "Come on." They blinked, and were gone.

***

Brendon stood up when Jon came back outside, offering up a small smile as he took the chips from under Jon's arm. Marley had tired of their game, and was stretched out on a lounge chair in the back corner of the yard.

"Thanks," he said. "Y'know, for the food and everything."

"Hey, it's no trouble." Jon didn't like to see Brendon so obviously distressed. It was unsettling. "Come on."

He led the way to the stone portico where Marley was sprawled. Patio furniture was scattered about, set up to accommodate ten people comfortably. There was a fire pit in the center, and along the fence was a post with a covered outlet box. Jon crossed to it, flipped a switch, and soft light filled the area, from lanterns hanging from the tree and stationed around the stones.

"I like to sit back here, play music, smoke up. It's a little escape, y'know?" Jon set the beer down on the small round table between two chairs and gestured for Brendon to sit. "My parents used to have people over all the time. I wanted the same kind of thing."

Brendon nodded, understanding. "It's nice. I've never had a place like this, somewhere to escape." He sat, dropping the bag of chips next to the beer. He took two out and opened them, pleased when he discovered the limes tucked between two of the remaining bottles.

Jon didn't answer. He pulled the bowl and an Altoid tin full of weed from his pocket, concentrating on packing the bowl. Brendon would talk when he was ready, Jon thought.

Brendon watched him, silent, while he sipped his Corona, and took the bowl when Jon offered him the first hit. He brought the bowl to his mouth, inhaled as he flicked the lighter. He kept it short, well aware of how long it had been since he smoked. Brendon held his breath and handed the bowl and lighter over to Jon.

They passed it back and forth twice before Brendon cleared his throat.

"I don't think Spencer wants to have kids with me." Brendon finally admitted.

Jon choked on his inhale. "Warlocks can get pregnant?" He looked pale, coughing hard.

Brendon stared at him before breaking into laughter. "You should see your face," he exclaimed between laughs. "No, they can't. We'd adopt."

Jon turned red. "What? There's so much shit I don't know and I feel like anytime I question Ryan about it, he thinks I don't trust him." Jon took a long swallow of his beer.

Brendon sighed, his face somber. "It's not just you, you get that, right? Ryan has some major trust and abandonment issues."

"I'm his husband; he should know I'm not going anywhere." Jon was frustrated.

"You've known each other two weeks. He loves you but it just might need more time," Brendon said gently. "Even so...you two are a good match. Ryan's dated a lot of people, and no one has ever clicked with him like you do, Spence and I both see that. He's never wanted to marry, or move away from Summerlin, or try things the mortal way, not for anyone. Until you."

"Thanks," Jon said quietly, tilting the bowl toward Brendon, offering it up again. Brendon nodded, and they didn't talk as they passed the bowl back and forth a few more times before Jon declared it kicked.

Brendon slouched in his chair, gazing up at the stars that were bright enough to see over the soft lawn lights. Jon was equally quiet, watching him. Brendon would make a good picture right now, a man hoping his world wasn't about to fall apart. It could be a self-portrait without the self, Jon thought.

"Why do you think Spencer doesn't want kids?" Jon's voice broke the peaceful silence that had settled around them.

"I think he does," Brendon admitted. "I just don't think he wants _mortal_ kids. I really think he's afraid we'd get a mortal kid and then he'd have to worry about him or her not fitting in, not adjusting."

"Was it like that with you?" Jon asked, hesitant.

"Yeah, a little." Brendon shrugged. He was quiet, lost in thought. "But then I met Spencer and Ryan. And they didn't care that I couldn't do the same things they could. Spencer's sisters are witches; Ryan's an only child. Spencer especially was kind of fascinated with how I did things."

"Like what?" Jon wanted to know. He had been curious about the way the three of them had grown up ever since he'd met Brendon and Spencer. How they'd managed to form such a tight bond.

"Stupid shit," Brendon said. "Skateboarding and having to worry about falling. Actually getting off my ass to get a drink or food. Anything. They conjure things up whenever they need it with a snap of their fingers. I have to go to the store."

"What about growing up?" Jon tried to phrase his question delicately. "Did your brothers and sisters give you a hard time?"

"Sometimes. Kara, not so much, but they all resented having to make adjustments. I'm the youngest, so they were a little pissed at having to change they way they did things, just for me." Brendon dropped his empty bottle in the cardboard carton and pulled out another.

"And your parents?" Jon watched Brendon slowly work the lime wedge into the neck of the bottle.

"They love me. They just...didn't know what to do with a kid like me, I think." Brendon looked up at the sky. "I don't want Spencer to feel like that about our own kids."

Jon _hmm_ ed, not really sure what to say to that. He didn't think Spencer would love a mortal child any less than he would a magical one, but he didn't say that.

"You know, you can always call me, if you have questions about shit." Brendon curled on his side, facing Jon. "Ryan may be a warlock, but he doesn't really think about what that entails."

"You mean, like, he takes it for granted?" Jon replaced his own beer.

"Well, no. More like...he's in his own head a lot. Doesn't necessarily think about how things work, just that they _do_." Brendon explained. "It's sort of like faith. He didn't have much to believe in when he was little."

"So when they conjure stuff," Jon started, "not their own, but like—"

"A credit card to buy a laptop?" Brendon interrupted, wryly.

"Yeah." Jon sighed. "Like that."

"Ryan has a bank account. It's just magical." Brendon twirled his beer on the tabletop. "Whenever they conjure something up that isn't theirs, there's this way it all evens out."

"I have this vision of some guys with white beards marking things down on scrolls." Jon laughed. "It's probably not like that, though."

"Not quite, no," Brendon giggled. "I'm so stoned right now, dude."

Jon smiled at Brendon, and it felt like it was the first time he'd done so in days. The smile remained as he looked up at his bedroom window. He liked Brendon, a lot. In another world, another life, Jon probably could have dated him. It would be easier, Jon thought, spending his life with Brendon. But it seemed in this life the two of them were meant for something else, something not necessarily difficult, but certainly not a smooth sail.

"Are you humming Styx right now?" Brendon tipped his head to the right, watching Jon.

"Styx is an iconic band, one for the ages, and I will not tolerate any mocking." Jon pointed a finger at Brendon, warning him.

"Dude." Brendon's eyes were wide and he jumped up out of his chair. " _Iiii'm saaailing awaaaaay. Set an open course, for the virgin seaaaaaa._ " He held his beer in front of him like a microphone.

" _Cause Iiii've got toooo be free, free to face the liiiife that's ahead of me._ " Brendon grabbed Jon's hand and pulled him out of his chair. He shoved the beer bottle in front of Jon's face.

 _Jon laughed, but started to sing, grabbing the beer microphone. " _On boooard, I'm the captain, so climb aboooooard. We'll search for tomorroooow on every shooore, and I'll tryyyy, Oh Lord I'll tryyyy, to caaaaaaarry on._ " He was laughing more than singing by the end._

Brendon mimed drumming, sounding out the beats loudly.

" _A gatheriiing of angels appeared above my head. They sang to me this song of hope and this is what they said,_ " Jon wrapped his arm around Brendon's shoulder and shifted the beer bottle between them, grinning when Brendon started to sing along, harmonizing.

" _They said come sail away, come sail away, come saaaail away with me._ " Brendon put one hand over Jon's, both holding the bottle, and his other arm wrapped around his waist. " _Come sail away, come sail away, come saaaaial away with me._

"I think you skipped a verse." Spencer and Ryan appeared from the shadows as their voices trailed off. Spencer raised an eyebrow, his gaze taking in their close position.

Jon shifted, but Brendon tightened his grip on Jon's shirt. "Yeah, I wanted to get to the chorus," Brendon explained, daring Spencer to make some sort of comment.

"It always was your favorite part," Spencer said. He held up a bowl full of dip. "Is there any beer left?"

Jon noticed Ryan hadn't said anything and he squeezed Brendon's shoulder before he let go, stepping toward Ryan.

"Hi." Jon shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his toes, feeling shy for some reason. "I missed you today."

"You didn't wake me when you left," Ryan said, his voice flat. His arms were crossed in front of his chest.

"I didn't think you got much sleep last night," Jon said softly. "You didn't even move when I was getting dressed. I didn't have the heart to disturb you."

"You should have. I wouldn't have minded." Ryan uncrossed his arms, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck and Jon grabbed the other without thought. Ryan held on.

"Sit with me?" Jon sat on one of the lounge chairs and spread his legs, pulling Ryan between them. Ryan shifted until his back was against Jon's chest and Jon wrapped his arms around Ryan's stomach.

They were quiet, watching Brendon and Spencer as they talked just outside the light, their bodies hidden in shadow. Ryan tensed when Spencer threw his arms up in the air and Brendon bowed his head. Jon kissed the top of Ryan's head.

"Spencer thinks Brendon is going to leave him if they have kids who can do magic," Ryan said tonelessly. "He's scared."

"Brendon thinks Spencer doesn't even want to risk having kids with him." Jon snuck a finger under the hem of Ryan's shirt, rested it on the warm skin of Ryan's stomach. "He's scared, too."

"I don't know what I'm going to do if they split up," Ryan admitted. "They're my family."

"I think that if they can just _talk_ to each other, they'll be okay." Jon traced patterns on Ryan's skin. "For what's it's worth, they're my family now, too."

Ryan sighed, sank back into Jon's warmth. "Beer?"

Jon nodded and started to let go of Ryan, but Ryan stopped him by laying a hand on his arm. Two beers floated out of the pack and Jon watched, still amazed by it all, as the caps popped off and two lime wedges slipped effortlessly down their necks. Ryan caught them and handed one to Jon.

"It's cold!" Jon was surprised.

Ryan shrugged. "I figured they needed to be chilled again, so."

"Thanks." Jon took a long swallow. For the first time since they'd met, he felt awkward around Ryan, unsure of himself, and of them. "Did you get any writing done today?"

"Some." Ryan tapped his finger on the bottle. "Spence and I went and got a cell phone for me earlier. At the store."

"Really? That's good," Jon sounded hopeful. "I hated not being able to call you today. At all, not just to say I'd be late."

"Aren't you going to ask how I paid for it?" Ryan couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

Jon tensed behind him. "No. That was stupid of me, last night." He dropped his forehead to rest on Ryan's hair. "And Brendon sort of explained to me how it all worked."

"Oh?"

"I realized I was stupid before I even got home, Ryan," Jon said quietly. "But there's a lot I don't get and Brendon's able to translate it for me, y'know?"

"I should have tried to explain it for you, instead of just storming away," Ryan conceded. "I keep forgetting that this is all new to you."

"It's not just magic that's new," Jon admitted. "I haven't cared if the person I was with stuck around after a fight in a long time."

Ryan didn't say anything. Brendon had turned his back to Spencer, who was slouching in the way that meant he was trying to hide from the world.

"I always wanted to find something like they have," Ryan admitted, nodding his head toward the other two. "Something strong, something that could last through whatever life sent their way. I never felt that with anyone until I met you."

Jon set his beer down on the ground, then grabbed Ryan's out of his hand, too. He sat up, prodding at Ryan's waist until he twisted on his side and they could look each other in the eye.

"They're going to make it, Ry. They'll figure out their shit and realize that they're afraid of the same thing and they'll get through it." Jon cupped Ryan's face in his hands, fingers brushing through Ryan's bangs. "We'll do the same, I promise."

Jon leaned forward to kiss Ryan, a soft touch of lips when Ryan let out a shaky exhale. Jon slipped his tongue between Ryan's parted lips and Ryan grabbed Jon's upper arms tightly. They kissed, desperate, communicating without words their agreement to get through the rough spot they were having.

"Get a room you two," Brendon drawled.

Ryan pulled away from Jon to see Brendon and Spencer standing at the foot of their chair. They looked tired and a little bit sad, but Spencer wasn't slouching as much, and Brendon hands weren't buried in his pockets.

"Everything okay?" Jon asked lightly.

"Getting there," Spencer replied with a shrug. "Do you want us to leave you guys alone?"

"No!" Ryan exclaimed as he saw Jon shake his head. "Pull up a chair."

Brendon and Spencer each dragged their own lounge chairs over. They arranged them close together, but not close enough to touch, Ryan noted. Usually they'd be sitting on one, just like he and Jon were. Brendon grabbed the chips and dip off the table and dropped it on the end of his chair. Spencer snapped and another six-pack of Corona and some lime wedges landed on the end of his.

No one said anything for a bit, and they all looked awkwardly at each other. Jon cleared his throat. "I think we could all use a toke." He started to climb out from behind Ryan, but then saw that Ryan held everything they needed in his hand.

He beamed at Ryan. "I really do love being married to a warlock," Jon said, kissing Ryan quickly.

Ryan rolled his eyes, but there was a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"It is pretty neat, isn't it?" Brendon offered.

Spencer looked at him, surprised. "I didn't think you felt like that anymore."

"I do," Brendon said earnestly. "It's still amazing to watch you do things, even though I've been watching you do it forever." He felt a blush spreading over his cheeks. "It's beautiful, sometimes."

Spencer ducked his head, but everyone could see his smile.

Jon cleared his throat. "Um, I'll go first then?" He held the freshly packed bowl up to his mouth and groaned when the lighter wouldn't work. "Stupid cheap piece of plastic."

"Here, let me." Ryan pushed the pipe back up to Jon's mouth and tapped the bowl with his finger. It glowed bright orange and even though Jon had seen it before, his eyes were wide, staring. "Jon, before it all burns off."

"Right." Jon took a hit and passed the still-lit bowl to Ryan, who took inhaled deeply before stretching to pass it to Brendon.

Jon blew smoke out, watching the tendrils mix with Ryan's exhale. He wrapped his arms back around Ryan's waist and turned him so Ryan's long legs draped over Jon's and dangled off the side of the chair.

"C'mere."

Brendon beckoned Spencer over to his chair, patting the space between his legs. Spencer looked puzzled but moved anyway, facing Brendon. He watched as Brendon took a hit, but when he went to take the bowl from him, Brendon shook his head and leaned forward. Spencer jumped when Brendon's lips met his, but he immediately opened his mouth and returned the kiss just as hard.

"Spencer got it a lot quicker than you did," Jon said with a chuckle, nudging Ryan.

"Oh shut up." Ryan's retort lacked any heat. "Some of us would like another turn, you know," he said loudly.

Brendon extended the hand holding the bowl over Spencer's shoulder without breaking their kiss. Ryan shook his head, muttering about lazy bastards, and smacked Jon when he started to laugh at Ryan making the bowl float over to them.

"What? I'm not going to get up if I don't have to." Ryan stuck his tongue out when Jon laughed harder. "Just for that, I'm going first." He took another hit before handed it back to Jon.

"Actually," Jon began. "I think we should go inside." He nodded toward the other chair and Ryan saw that Brendon was no longer wearing a shirt.

"Yeah, I think you're right." Ryan held Jon's hand. "Um, guys? We're gonna leave you alone now to ruin our furniture."

The sound of Jon's burst of giggles remained in the backyard after they disappeared.

***

Ryan walked through the dining room, nodded at Tom and Sean who were watching Bill gesture animatedly as he told a story. Pete and Patrick were talking quietly in the entrance to the living room, but Ryan noted that Pete's eyes were on Ashlee, seated on the couch with a pillow supporting her. She was patiently letting Brendon talk to her stomach while Spencer rolled his eyes. Ryan could tell Spencer was mostly putting on a show, though. He secretly loved watching Brendon around kids, especially his students.

Ryan was glad those two seemed to have worked out some of their issues. The four of them had spent Saturday together in Chicago; Jon had loved playing tour guide and Ryan was reminded of the first week they'd spent together in Ryan's hometown. He thought he could come to love Chicago as much as Jon obviously did.

Ryan caught Spencer's eye as he passed, shared an indulgent grin. He knew Spencer and Brendon still had a few things to work out, but the worst seemed to be over. Really, the whole evening was going better than Ryan had hoped. His new life and his old life seemed to blend smoothly. All that was missing was the birthday boy.

Ryan found Jon in the kitchen, snapping photographs of the food and drinks with the Polaroid camera Ryan had given him for his birthday. One of the first things Jon had ranted about when they'd met was what a shame it had been when Polaroid ceased making film. He'd gotten the idea when Spencer had played with the Polaroid iPhone app while Ryan picked out his MacBook. He and Ryan had spent the better part of that day popping all over the country, scooping up old packages of film and cameras from various decades. Jon had been suitably impressed and a little chagrined when Ryan assured him everything had been paid for.

"If you're not careful you'll run out of film before the week is over," Ryan teased from where he leaned against the counter, watching Jon with a soft look.

"Nah," Jon dismissed. "See, I have this amazing husband who managed to get me, like, a thousand packages of film." Jon crossed over to Ryan and leaned in close before holding the camera out with his arm. "Say cheese."

Ryan turned his head and kissed Jon's cheek instead, pleased when he heard the press of the button. Jon lowered the camera and captured Ryan's lips for a real kiss.

"Happy birthday," Jon said.

Ryan chuckled. "It's your birthday, not mine."

"Yeah, but," Jon paused, embarrassed. "I can't remember the last time a birthday meant so much to me."

Ryan ducked his head, smiling. "I can't remember caring about someone's happiness this much," he admitted. "It's...nice."

"Nice, huh?" Jon shifted, pinned Ryan against the counter, arms on either side of his body.

Ryan swallowed at the gleam in Jon's eyes. "We could probably disappear upstairs for a bit and no one would know."

Jon nodded, brushing his nose along Ryan's jaw.

"It's not polite for the hosts to fuck in the kitchen during a party." Tom and Sean walked in, empty glasses in hand.

Ryan buried his face in Jon's neck and sighed. Jon's body shook with silent laughter.

"Sorry about him," Sean apologized. "You know how he is."

"How am I?" Tom asked. "And keep in mind that we live together."

"You're rude and loud," Sean said, unconcerned. "And the hottest guy here."

"Hey!" Jon exclaimed. "Shouldn't that honor go to guy who's generously feeding you and letting you drink his alcohol?"

"Yeah," Tom said drily. "Thanks, Ryan."

Ryan burst out laughing, surprised. Jon just groaned and moved to lean on the counter next to Ryan.

"Hey," Tom continued. "Where'd you get the camera?"

"Dude." Jon grabbed Tom by the hand. "You have got to see what Ryan did for my birthday." He looked at Ryan, who nodded. "Come on, it's down in the darkroom."

Ryan and Sean watched them open the door to the basement, drinks forgotten as they discussed the camera on their way down the stairs.

"You'll get used to it," Sean sighed. He picked up the vodka and started to mix himself a drink.

"Get used to what?" Ryan asked, hesitant.

"The Jon and Tom photography bond," Sean explained. "One of them could be on fire, but if they're talking cameras they probably wouldn't even notice." He took a sip of his drink, making a face, before he added more vodka.

"I'm a little glad Tom and I weren't together when he opened his gallery," Sean continued. "I probably would've punched Jon in a fit of jealous rage."

"Yeah," Ryan said slowly. "Even Brendon sometimes still gets jealous of the best friend thing Spencer and I have."

"You and Spencer were together, too?" Sean asked. "Drink?"

Together, too. What did Sean mean by _that_?

"No, we weren't together," Ryan finally answered. "Whisky sour, please." He watched Sean sort through the various bottles, listened as Sean explained how he used to tend bar before his music really took off.

"Thanks." Ryan took a long swallow of the drink, glad to discover it was strong. "So, um. How long have you and Tom been together?"

"A little over a year." Sean sounded proud. "We've known each other a lot longer, though. I met him right before he and Jon split up."

"So you've known each other," Ryan paused, pretending he was doing math in his head.

"Five years, give or take," Sean supplied helpfully. "He and Jon broke up right before Jon finished college. They almost made it the whole four years."

Four _years_. Jon had been with Tom for four _years_. And he hadn't told Ryan he'd been in love with his best friend. Ryan assumed so, anyway, because _four years_.

"I have to admit, I was really happy when Tom told me Jon had gotten married." Sean looked slightly ashamed. "Not that I don't trust Tom, but it helped stop my irrational fear that Jon would someday realize he'd made a mistake and want Tom back."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Ryan whispered. "Glad I could help."

"You're a good guy, Ryan." Sean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past. "I'm glad Jon found you, really. He's happier than I've ever known him to be."

Ryan offered a wan smile and drained his drink.

Four years. Fuck. What else hadn't Jon told him?

***

"I cannot _believe_ you sex with a _client_!" Patrick whispered furiously. "A client that we could still possibly _lose_."

Bill looked offended. "It wasn't just _sex_. There was a _connection_ , Patrick."

"What wasn't just sex?" Jon asked from the open basement door. He waved a picture gently, waiting for the image to dry.

"Bill had sex with a client last night." Patrick muttered.

"Whoa, really?" Jon presented Bill with the photo—Patrick, short and red in the face, pointing a finger at Bill's chest. Bill's expression as he looked down at Patrick was a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Was it one of those Alexes that were in a few weeks ago?"

"Not last night, no," Bill demurred. Patrick made a noise that sounded like he was being strangled. "I'm kidding, Patrick, Christ."

Jon was well used to the way they interacted. Patrick was the leader of their unit at work, the guy who charmed the clients with his knowledge of advertising and marketing. If a client referenced a campaign from years past, Patrick not only knew what they were talking about, but also likely knew an obscure fact about it no one else did.

Bill, fond of prose and lyrical imagery, wrote copy for their longer print items. He was currently working on a company-wide project, and hadn't really been involved in the Cobra campaign.

"Yeah, but you aren't kidding about sleeping with Gabe Saporta!" Patrick yelled. Bill took the slightly wrinkled Polaroid out of Patrick's fingers with a grimace.

"Jon slept with Gabe Saporta? Gives a whole new meaning to landing the client, eh Jonny-boy?" Tom grinned from the top of the stairs. Despite moving the base of his operation from Jersey to Chicago only a few months before, Saporta was already gaining quite the reputation around certain parts of the city.

"Gabe had sex with _me_ last night," Bill exclaimed. "For fuck's sake. He wouldn't sleep with _Jon_."

"Gee, thanks," Jon said drily. He grabbed two beers from the fridge, passing one to Patrick at his frantic beckoning hand gesture. He reached in for another one for Tom.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Bill leaned against the counter, frustrated. "Gabe would no more sleep with someone he's hired than I would sleep with a client."

"I don't know, man," Tom smirked. "I heard he's been known to hire off the street before. Into kinky shit, too."

Jon groaned, ducking his head. Tom and Bill's post-relationship relationship was nearly as antagonistic as their brief, but heated, affair had been. Thank God for Sean, Jon thought, not for the first time and surely not for the last.

"Could you all please not insinuate that our new client hires hookers and, I don't know, chains them up in his basement or something." Patrick took a long swallow of his beer, draining it by half. "I'm going to go talk to Pete and Ashlee. My real friends."

Bill was staring at Tom, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Tom seemed to not know the danger he was in, grinning at Bill with a mouthful of chips.

"Yeah, I'm gonna…" Jon laughed ruefully. "Fuck it, I'm getting away from you two."

They didn't say anything as Jon left.

***

"So you've known Ryan forever?" Pete asked Brendon. Ashlee had told him before to behave and not to ask stupid questions that could get him in trouble.

Pete just assumed that he and his wife had different definitions of stupid.

"Well, not quite forever," Brendon grinned. "But long enough to have enough blackmail material for the rest of my life."

"I like the way you think." Pete laughed and clapped Brendon on the shoulder. "Tell me something," he continued, not waiting for Brendon's nod of agreement. "Don't you think Ryan is a bit…weird?"

"I think that goes without saying," Brendon said truthfully. "But he wouldn't be Ryan otherwise, right?"

Pete sighed. This might be harder than he thought.

"Okay, but," Pete glanced around the dining room, making sure they weren't overheard. Spencer and Sean were at the table, flipping through the photo album Jon had put together of his Vegas trip. "You're probably going to think I'm nuts, but I swear I've seen Ryan…do stuff."

"Stuff," Brendon repeated.

"You know." Pete waved his hand in the air. " _Stuff_. Like shit floated when it shouldn't—including Ryan."

"Floated?" Brendon asked.

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?" Pete was frustrated. He was sure Brendon was the right person to approach with his theory. "Floated. Like, by magic."

"Magic."

"Stop doing that! And yes, magic. Like Harry Potter." Pete whispered loudly.

Brendon started to giggle, tried to talk around it but just kept gasping "Harry Potter" and that would start him off again. By the end he was bent over at the waist, laughing. Pete was totally going to get busted by Ashlee if Brendon kept this up.

"Hey, shhh!" Pete pulled Brendon up by his shoulder. "Don't get me in trouble."

"Sorry," Brendon was still laughing a bit. "Seriously. You have to go tell Ryan you think he's Harry Potter."

"Are you crazy?" Pete whispered harshly. "He'll fucking, I don't know, zap me with his wand or something."

"Pete," Brendon stopped him, and patted him on the upper arm. "I can promise you that Ryan does not have a wand."

"So he's not like Harry Potter," Pete said sadly.

"I just said he doesn't have a wand," Brendon replied mysteriously. "Now, I need to go talk to Spencer. I'm pretty sure Ryan is in the kitchen."

Pete watched as Brendon walked away, thinking. Ryan didn't have a wand, fine. But Brendon definitely didn't deny that Ryan was like Harry Potter.

He headed toward the kitchen, smiling at Patrick and Ashlee seated on the couch, talking. Patrick was almost as excited as he was that they were having another kid. Pete was really lucky his best friend was so cool that his wife adored him, too. Bill and Tom stood at the foot of the stairs, staring at each other. Jon was sitting on the second-to-last step, trapped, and he waved for Pete to come over.

Pete should probably rescue Jon, but he was on a mission to out Jon's new husband as a wizard.

He crept up to the kitchen door, quiet like a mouse. Ryan might be Harry Potter, but Pete was pretty sure he didn't have super-sensitive hearing, too. Ryan was at the counter, his back to Pete, and looked to be slicing some apples, the knife hitting the cutting board with loud thwacks. There was a giant bowl of spinach to Ryan's left, which Pete really didn’t think anyone other than Ashlee and Bill would eat.

Pete watched as Ryan dumped the peppers into the bowl, then grabbed a bowl of unshelled walnuts. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a block of cheese and when he turned back to the salad, he dumped in the walnuts—all shelled and crushed.

Holy _shit_.

Ryan spun around, eyes wide, the block of cheese held out in front of him like a weapon.

"Sorry, did I say that out loud?" Pete was not sorry at all.

"Pete. You startled me." He lowered the cheese.

Ryan, Pete thought, was awful monotone for being startled.

"Did you just make all those shells disappear by magic?" Pete was pretty sure that Ashlee would think this was a stupid question.

"No," Ryan said slowly, eyes narrowed. "That's kind of a stupid question."

"It's really not," Pete insisted. "They weren't shelled before. You picked up the bowl full of whole walnuts, went to the fridge for your cheese weapon and then when you dumped them in, they were all in pieces."

"Cheese weapon?" Ryan asked, looking down at his hand.

"I'm accusing you of being Harry Potter and you focus on the _cheese_ , seriously?" Shit. He'd meant to be more subtle than that.

"Harry Potter, huh?" Ryan's eyebrow quirked and he set the cheese down on the counter. "Trust me, I'm not Harry Potter. And unless I'm happy to see you, I don't have a wand in my pocket."

Pete tried not to laugh. This was serious business.

"Pete, really." Ryan pulled Pete forward to look in the salad bowl. "Spencer toasted and crushed all the walnuts before. I'm not that good a cook yet. But I can handle slicing apples and crumbling up gorgonzola."

"I—" Pete hesitated. He _saw_ the unshelled walnuts. "Yeah, okay. I guess my eyes were playing tricks."

"It's okay," Ryan said, patting Pete on the shoulder. "Happens to Jon all the time. Just this morning he thought he saw me make a pen slide down the table to where I was sitting."

Ryan sounded a little bitter to Pete. He wondered what was going on there.

"Like you used The Force?" Maybe Ryan was Luke Skywalker and not Harry Potter. Fuck. Maybe Pete needed to get more than four hours of sleep a night.

"Something like that," Ryan replied, his lips curled in what Pete thought could maybe be a smile.

Maybe Ryan was something in between—Harry Skywalker or Luke Potter.

"Right." Pete looked at the salad and back at Ryan. "I should go find Ash, she probably wants a drink."

"Bring her this." Ryan wiggled his nose and handed him a bottle of water that had been sitting on the table a second ago. Pete took it without thinking and then Ryan winked at him. _Dude._

"You should really go find Ashlee, Pete." Ryan pushed him gently.

"Thanks," Pete stammered. He was sure something momentous had just happened.

***

Ryan looked at everyone gathered in the dining room, scrunched around Jon's slightly too small table. Dishes got passed around—dinner prepared partly through magical means and partly through a restaurant with an excellent delivery service. Drinks flowed freely and everyone was getting along for the most part, or at least being civil. It was exactly the type of birthday event Jon deserved.

Ryan hated every fucking minute of it. Jon was at the head of the table, Ryan on his right and Tom on his left. Throughout the entire meal Ryan was forced to see how _intimate_ Tom and Jon were with each other. Knowing they'd been together for almost four years put their interactions in a entirely different light.

Ryan didn't know how Sean could stand for it. And yet Sean was sitting next to Tom, oblivious, talking to Bill on his other side like Bill hadn't also been with Tom.

Sean was obviously a much nicer guy that Ryan could ever hope to be. And Tom's scruffy hotness worked far better than Ryan had given him credit for.

"Ry?" Spencer nudged Ryan with his elbow. "Where were you just now? Tom's been trying to ask you a question."

"Sorry, just lost in my own thoughts." Ryan shook his head. "What's up?" He sounded polite, right?

"Tom wanted to know if you could help him find an old camera," Jon explained, looking at him curiously. "He's wanted a two-tone rose Brownie forever."

"Yeah, I'd be happy to." Ryan forced a tight smile at Tom.

Tom smiled back, and leaned over to whisper something in Sean's ear. Just as he opened his mouth a loud burp came out. Everyone turned to see him turn bright red, apologizing to Sean.

"Okay, I know I put up with a lot, but that's just gross," Sean complained, only half-joking.

"I'm so sorry! I was going to tell you something and all of a sudden..." Tom belched again and closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry."

Sean patted Tom's hand before turning back to Bill. Ryan smirked to himself as he took a bite of lasagna. His smirk faded as he watched as Tom tilt toward Jon, talking with a playful quirk to his lips. Jon's answering grin was slow and sexy and just as Tom raised his forkful of meatball to eat, Ryan coughed and the meatball crashed to Tom's plate, sending sauce everywhere.

Tom blinked in confusion as once again everyone looked down the table at him.

"Seriously, were you raised in a barn?" Jon leaned over to Tom and swiped a bit of sauce off Tom's chin with his fingers.

"Oh fuck off," Tom replied. "It's not like I haven't had worse on my face."

Jon raised an eyebrow at him.

"That is so not what I meant to say," Tom stammered. "I was trying to say it's not like I didn't have Sean's stinky jizz all over my face before we came here."

Again, the whole table went quiet and Tom let out another long belch. Ryan coughed into his fist, hiding his chuckle.

"Um, I think we could all use more wine." Spencer stood, grabbing Ryan around his upper arm. "Ryan, come help me."

Spencer dragged Ryan out of the dining room and led him to the kitchen. He threw up a privacy spell before he spun around to face Ryan.

"What the fuck do you have against Tom?" Spencer demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ryan replied haughtily, crossing his arms.

"Do not try to bullshit me, Ryan." Spencer rubbed a hand over his face. "Those are the same tricks you pulled when we were sixteen and those assholes and their dates in Del Taco were giving us a hard time."

Ryan scowled. "Tom and Jon were in love," he mumbled.

"And?" Spencer leaned against the counter.

"And Jon never told me!" Ryan burst out. "Sean told me that Tom and Jon were together practically the entire time Jon was in college. And they're still best friends!"

"So what?" Spencer pushed Ryan to explain himself. "Yeah, it sucks that Jon hadn't told you, but it's not like they're secretly having an affair."

Ryan fiddled with one of his bracelets.

"Oh my God, you think they're having an affair!" Spencer could not believe how stupid Ryan was sometimes.

"Look at the way they are together," Ryan defended. "It's obvious."

"No, what's obvious is that you're an idiot. I _knew_ you weren't over your commitment issues." Spencer grabbed onto Ryan's arm before he could pop out of the room. "Ryan. Jon's not going to leave you for Tom. But if you keep this shit up, Sean might get so upset that he breaks up with Tom. This would leave Tom to make a play for Jon."

Spencer really didn't think that would happen, but it was clear from the murderous look on his face Ryan hadn't even given that scenario thought.

"You're not going to make me apologize to Tom, are you?" Ryan asked, only a little bitchy.

"No," Spencer sighed. "But could you try to at least be nice?"

"Oh, I'll be so damned nice you won't recognize me." Ryan sneered before he stormed out.

Spencer sighed and conjured up four more bottles of wine. He was pretty sure they'd need them.

***

Jon looked at Ryan, puzzled. He didn't know what Spencer had said in the kitchen, but in the fifteen minutes since they'd come back, Ryan had been sporting one of the fakest smiles Jon had ever seen. He was being extra nice to Tom and Sean. It seemed sincere, but for some reason Jon didn't trust that it was.

"I can't wait to visit your gallery, Tom." Ryan smiled as he took a sip of wine. "Jon hasn't really told me much about it, though. Is it just your work?"

"Mainly mine, but I feature one or two other photographers a month, too." Tom glanced at Jon, hurt. "I'm surprised Jon didn't tell you about it. I probably couldn't have made it this far without his help in the beginning."

"I thought I _had_ told you about it," Jon said, confused. "On the plane back here."

"Not really, no." Ryan averted his eyes.

"Tom's really talented," Pete interrupted. "He shot one of my favorite series for Clan last year. We still have a lot of the extra frames hanging up in our offices and the flagship store."

"And," Ashlee grinned, "he did Bronx's baby photos." She rubbed a hand over her stomach. "We've been meaning to ask you if you'll do a set of the new one, too."

"Of course I will." Tom looked pleased and a little uncomfortable with the praise.

"Do you only take pictures of people?" Brendon asked, curious.

"Nah." Tom shook his head. "I take pictures of whatever captures my attention at the time."

"Even if it's litter on the side of the highway and we have to risk our lives to get the shot," Sean interjected.

"One time!" Tom leaned over and kissed Sean on his cheek. "And I sold that photograph for five hundred dollars." Sean smiled back at him, so obviously in love it made Ryan want to vomit. Or make Tom vomit.

"I think it's great that you still use your talent for art." Ryan said, just a little too loudly. "So many people sell out when it gets tough."

Jon paused with his forkful of salad halfway to his mouth. A hushed silence descended over the room and he didn't miss the shocked, disappointed look on Spencer's face. Brendon bit his lip, like he was going to try to salvage the situation.

"Ryan." Jon put his fork down and stood up. "Can you help me bring out the dessert?"

He walked out of the room without waiting for an answer, barely registered Patrick's awkward tone as he asked Sean about how his last recording session went. Jon didn't stop until he stood staring out the back door, open to let the warm breeze in the house. His chest ached and his heart was beating rapidly. He honestly didn't know if that meant he was having a heart attack or if his heart was simply breaking in two.

Jon heard Ryan enter behind him, but he didn't turn. He gazed out into the darkness, quiet. Ryan shifted, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

"Jon?" Ryan's voice was tentative.

"You sure know how to ruin a birthday party, Ryan." Jon still didn't turn. "Insulting what I do for a living, never mind being a complete asshole to Tom."

Ryan made a noise of protest and finally Jon turned to him, eyes sad.

"I could tell you were using magic on him," Jon said softly. "The burps, the meatball, the thing he said about Sean…that's not Tom. All I asked was that you didn't use it on people we knew. And you promised."

"Why didn't you tell me you were in love with him?" Ryan whispered.

"What?" Jon furrowed his brow, a little crease above his nose. "I'm not in love with Tom—he's my best friend, Ryan."

"You were, though." Ryan's voice betrayed no emotion. "You were together for almost four years; don't tell me you weren't in love."

"Of course I was in love with him, then." Jon took a step forward, hurt when Ryan immediately took a step back. "Was that what this was all about? You're jealous of Tom?"

"I'm not _jealous_ , not really." Ryan lowered his eyes to the floor, taking in Jon's ridiculous sparkly flip-flops that had been a present from Brendon. The glitter flaked off with every step Jon took, and earlier Ryan had said that it was like Jon left a trail of fairy dust wherever he went.

Ryan had been feeling particularly poetic before the party, happy even.

"If you're not jealous," Jon began, "then what? And who told you that we were together, anyway?"

"Does it matter who told me?" Ryan snapped. "Every one of your friends in there knew it. Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"I was going to," Jon said defensively. "It just didn't seem that important."

Ryan made a sound of disbelief. "It wasn't important to tell me that your best friend is your ex-lover? I don't know, Jon, it seems kind of up there on the list of things to tell your new husband."

"It's not like I know everyone you used to date!" Jon said loudly.

"That's the _point_ ," Ryan snapped, the _you idiot_ unsaid but implied. "You don't know them and you never will. I'm not friends with them. I don't expect you to be friends with them."

Ryan threw his hands up in the air and pushed past Jon to go out the back door. He sat on the porch steps, arms curled around his drawn up knees. After a minute Jon followed him and dropped to the spot next to him.

"I like Tom," Ryan hesitated. "I like him a lot. I think he's a great guy and I can see why you two are so close."

"He's my best friend," Jon said softly. "But he's not my husband. He's not the man I decided to spend the rest of my life with."

"That's part of the problem. No, let me finish," Ryan stopped Jon from interrupting. "You've been friends since, what, you were sixteen?"

Jon nodded.

"And then you went to the same college he went to, and you dated for pretty much your whole four years there." Ryan looked at Jon and Jon nodded again. "What I don't get is why, after six years, Tom _wasn't_ the guy you wanted to spend the rest of your life with."

"Ryan—"

"I mean," Ryan talked over him. "If you two couldn't make it work, then how can we? We've known each other, what, three weeks?"

"I knew from the first time we bumped in to each other that there was something special about you." Jon took a chance and reached for one of Ryan's hands. Ryan didn't pull away, but neither did he hold on. "By the end of that first night I knew I wanted to marry you."

"That first night?" Jon nodded and Ryan twisted the hand Jon was holding so their fingers twined.

"It took me a few days," Ryan admitted. He leaned to the right and put his head on Jon's shoulder. "Why did you and Tom break up?"

"I fucked up," Jon sighed. "I didn't, like, cheat on him or whatever. I just." He stopped, unsure of how to proceed. Ryan squeezed Jon's hand and Jon took a fortifying breath before he continued.

"I stopped telling him stuff," he said quietly.

"What kind of stuff?" Ryan prodded. "Were you lying to him?"

"Not lying, not exactly." Jon shifted, uncomfortable. "Before I started at Columbia, before we were anything other than best friends, I told Tom everything. Hopes, fears, dreams, all of it."

He laughed, thoughtful. "I'm sure some of that was the weed. And the shitty beer. But once we started sleeping together, something changed." Jon sighed. "I need a cigarette."

Ryan wordlessly conjured one and lit it with a finger tap on the side once Jon put it between his lips. Jon grunted his thanks around his inhale.

"Anyway," he exhaled, blowing smoke into the dark. "I somehow got it in my head that I couldn't tell him what I was thinking, because it would drive him away."

"When really what drove him away was you _not_ telling him things?" Ryan asked softly.

"Pretty much," Jon agreed. "It all came to a head toward the middle of my senior year. Tom was working at a gallery, under an old guy who wanted to retire in a year or two. The plan had been for me to join him."

"Why didn't you?"

Jon shrugged. "I'd been interning with Pete and he introduced me to Patrick. I helped out on a campaign and loved it. Simple as that. Owning a gallery together had always been Tom's dream and I was too scared to tell him it wasn't mine."

"I'm surprised you two are still friends," Ryan admitted. "I don't know what I would've done if I were Tom."

"Oh, you would've punched me in the nose and not talked to me for about two months." Jon chuckled. "Then we would've been tricked into attending the same party and realized that we missed our best friend."

Ryan made a thoughtful noise. "And now?"

"Now I tell Tom everything." Jon stubbed out the cigarette on the step below them and Ryan waved it out of sight. "Tom warned me about not doing that with you."

"Tom's a smart guy," Ryan said. "You should listen to him."

"Yeah. I should." Jon squeezed Ryan's hand. "You have to tell me shit, too, you know."

"Spencer and Brendon told me that, too." Ryan admitted.

"Sounds like you also have smart best friends," Jon said.

"Well, duh." Brendon said through the screen door. Ryan and Jon twisted around to see Spencer standing next to Brendon, both peering anxiously at them.

"Everyone went home," Spencer told them. "Said it was okay and that they'd catch you later this week."

"Fuck," Ryan said. "I ruined your birthday."

"Nah." Jon bumped Ryan's shoulder with his. "It would've been ruined if we hadn't had this talk."

"So all is good?" Brendon pushed open the door, letting Marley out and then he and Spencer followed. Jon and Ryan shifted to lower steps, letting Spencer and Brendon take their place at the top.

"Yeah, all is good. Except," Ryan glared at Brendon. "Did you tell Pete that I was Harry Potter?"

"Me?" Brendon widened his eyes innocently. "Never!"

Ryan narrowed his eyes further.

"What did you tell Pete?" Jon asked.

"Nothing outright, just some hints," Ryan admitted with a shrug. "But he's cool; I'll tell him eventually. For now, it's fun."

"Fun?" Spencer said drily. "Never thought I'd hear Ryan Ross say it's _fun_ that someone figured out his biggest secret."

"What can I say? Maybe I've learned to not keep secrets from the people I care about." Ryan leaned over to kiss Jon's cheek.

"It's cold out here," Brendon complained. "Chicago is unnatural."

Jon laughed. "It's gotta be at least fifty degrees, Brendon."

"Says the freak in flip-flops and a t-shirt," Brendon replied, shivering. Spencer pulled him close, rubbed his hand up and down Brendon's arm.

"Here." Ryan snapped and the fire pit floated over from the corner of the backyard to sit at the base of the steps. Flame erupted from it as soon as it settled.

"I really will never get used to this magic stuff," Jon said, awed. "And I'm okay with that."

***

For the tenth day in a row—since the Monday after Jon's birthday—Ryan woke up ridiculously early to find he was alone in bed. He knew Jon was working hard, not just on the Cobra Campaign, but the presentation with Gabe Saporta was later that day and Jon must have been up since four.

Ryan stumbled into the room Jon used as an office, Jon's previously abandoned pajama pants hanging low on his hips and a shrunken t-shirt he stole from Spencer in high school on inside-out. Jon was sitting at his desk, laptop open, and there were photographs printed up on mat boards spread out on the table along the wall to his left. The empty coffeepot was on the floor next to Jon's feet and there was a half-smoked cigarette smoldering in the overflowing ashtray balanced precariously on the edge of the desk.

Holding back a sigh, Ryan picked up the carafe and filled Jon's mug with fresh coffee. Jon looked up and smiled around the pen in his mouth. Ryan dragged a hand through Jon's messy hair.

"Been up long?" Ryan asked, dropping a kiss on the crown of Jon's head before he moved away to look at the boards.

"Few hours," Jon admitted sheepishly. "Sorry, didn't want to wake you."

Ryan shrugged, his back to Jon. "I figured you'd be showing Cobra something on your computer? Or, like, a projection screen."

"Yeah, we do that, but those are comps. They go on display during the meeting," Jon explained. "Gives the client a feel for what the ad would look like in print or on billboards or whatever."

Ryan made a noise of understanding.

"What do you think?" Jon came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist, breath warm against the back of Ryan's neck.

"I think the photos are great. I like how it's all in black and white except the product." Ryan didn't say anything about the taglines. "What's XTreme Dreams again?"

"It's a male-libido enhancement drink. Kind of a…herbal tea infusion, I think is what Gabe called it." Jon shifted to stand next to Ryan and flipped through the photos disinterestedly. "I think I've been looking at them for too long—they all look like crap to me."

"I don't know, I think this one is pretty hot." Ryan fished out a comp that depicted a naked man sitting in a chair, a bright red bottle of XTreme Dreams nestled between his spread thighs. "Shame he's small enough to hide behind a bottle of tea."

Jon barked out a laugh. "Nah, he was taped down."

Ryan _aah_ ed his understanding and kept looking through the boards. "What about those photographs?" He pointed to a few piles of prints that weren't mounted on anything, some with bright red markings on them.

"Those are extra frames from various shots over the years. Leftovers, basically." Jon stretched and seemed to notice the sunlight starting to stream in through the window. "Shit. I need to take a shower."

Ryan nodded, distracted. Jon's taglines were boring. Uninspired. _Corny._ He rifled through the photos from this campaign's shoot, all wrong in some small way that Ryan couldn't detect. Or a big way, like the one where the model's eyes were half-shut and he looked stoned.

He grabbed a red china marker from the pile on Jon's desk, wrinkled his nose when he realized the weird texture was from all the teeth marks Jon had made over time. Ryan could hear the water running from the bathroom, the shout of _I'm okay!_ Jon made after a loud crash sounded down the hall.

He tuned it all out as he sank into Jon's chair, his imagination taken by the images in front of him. Photos Jon had taken were inspiring Ryan the way only the characters he made up in his head prompted him to write previously. The red marker went unthinkingly between Ryan's teeth as he flipped through the stack of pictures in his lap.

Ryan pulled out a photo of a guy and a girl dancing in a club. The guy's white button-down shirt was half-undone, soaked with sweat, one nipple clearly visible through the sheer material. The girl had her back to the camera, moisture glistening on the skin between her shoulder blades. The guy held a bottle of tea with the hand behind the girl's back, and his other hand was slipping the strap of her dress down her arm. Ryan took the marker out of his mouth and wrote _It'll help you rise to the occasion._ He smiled and set the picture on Jon's desk, before he continued looking at the pictures.

The next photo to make him pause was of two figures in a bed, underneath white sheets, one clearly on top of the other. The sheet hid them, but it was evident they were both male from the width of the shoulders. Ryan guessed they were simulating a sixty-nine. Next to the bed was a table with two empty tea bottles and a tube that looked suspiciously like lube. Ryan scrawled across the white blankets hanging off the bead _It tastes great going down while it helps perk you up._

He shifted in the chair, startled to realize that Jon's photography was turning him on. The movement caused the marker to leave a red mark down his forearm. He rubbed at it absently, lost in a daydream where he and Jon wrote on each other's skin and took pictures during the whole process. Including what would inevitably happen after.

The sudden absence of the noise of running water shook him from his thoughts and when he looked down at his lap, he saw another perfect photo—a naked man, with perfect abs and thick thighs, shown only from neck down, holding a six-pack of tea in cans. Ryan smirked and scribbled _Pick up a six-pack today. They're hard to resist._

"What're you doing?"

Ryan's head snapped up and his mind went blank as he took in the sight of Jon with a towel wrapped around his waist as he used another to dry his hair.

"I'm, um," Ryan stammered. He stood up and dropped the stack of pictures to the seat of the chair. He grabbed the three he'd written on and held them out to Jon. "I came up with some ideas? I hope you don't mind."

Jon raised an eyebrow, but took them from Ryan and glanced at them. "These are great. Sexy."

"Yeah?" Ryan let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "I just got hit with these ideas and I thought the double meanings would…" He trailed off as he watched Jon's expression change.

"Yeah. Better than anything I came up with and this is my job." Jon tossed the pictures on his desk. "I can't believe you used magic, Ryan. This is my _job_."

Jon turned and stormed out of the office. Ryan stood there, stunned, before he popped in front of Jon getting dressed in the bedroom.

"Christ!" Jon exclaimed. "You can't walk down the fucking hallway?"

"Fuck you," Ryan said calmly. "Do you really think I'd use my abilities—my _magical_ abilities—on something so important to you? I'm a writer! It's what I do all day!"

"I think you would if you thought it would make me happy," Jon bit out. He pulled on a shirt, buttoning it as he shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers. "I gotta go."

Ryan watched him walk from the room, stunned. He stood motionless and then the slamming of the door downstairs reverberated throughout the house and a vase shattered against the wall without Ryan moving a muscle.

"Fuck."

***

"It's not that I don't like the images," Gabe explained. "They're just a little—Victoria, what's the word I'm looking for here?"

"Trite. Boring. _Corny_ ," Victoria said drily.

"The images are boring?" Jon asked, clearly confused. "You were at the photo shoot. You said they were sexy."

Victoria stood and crossed to the first easel in the row at the front of the room. Jon noticed Patrick shift in his chair and caught his eye. Patrick shook his head slightly and blushed when Victoria cleared her throat. She cleared it again, pointedly, and Gabe looked up from his phone with a grin.

"Sorry, sorry, plans must get made if a man is to get laid," Gabe leered.

Jon choked on a laugh. If his campaign ideas got shot down, at least the client wasn't a dick.

"As I was saying, gentlemen," Victoria picked up the first comp and brought it closer to the table. "The shot itself is hot—a shirtless guy in a Santa hat and pants, holding a bottle of XTreme Dreams as he sits in a chair with a long line of hot girls waiting to sit on his lap."

"I had a party like that once in my basement," Gabe remarked fondly.

Victoria rolled her eyes and continued. "But the tagline needs work. 'It's the gift that keeps on giving.' just lacks punch."

Jon didn't say anything.

"We can work on that," Patrick interjected. "Is it just the tags you have issues with?"

"Yes, frankly." Victoria walked back to the front and pointed at another comp, a man in a suit, drinking the tea in front of a conference table full of male and female colleagues all leaning forward in their chairs. "This is great—the imagery is subtle, it shows you can drink it in public without getting an erection."

Jon saw Patrick blush and hid a smirk behind his hand. Patrick had a thing for Victoria. A client. Bill was going to love it.

"It's the tagline, again, that isn't too great," Victoria went on. "It's bland. 'They can't take their eyes off you and they don't know why.' We expected something more—something racier, double entendres. It's a sophisticated consumer culture we're aiming for."

She put the comp back on the easel before crossing back to them, placing her hands on the table to lean over them. Jon thought Patrick was going to develop a twitch when her hair tumbled forward and her shirt opened slightly at the collar.

"You guys were highly recommended and I can see why." Victoria shifted her hips toward Patrick. "But I feel like we're not getting the best team you have."

"Bill got pulled onto another project," Patrick admitted. "But we can get him in for final copy, don't worry."

"Yeah, Bill is excellent with words," Gabe put in. "Really has a way with his mouth."

Victoria dropped her head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _can't keep it in his pants for ten minutes_ to Jon's ears.

Jon thought of Ryan's ideas that morning. "Let me work on it tonight, see what I can come up with."

"Fine." Victoria stood upright and fixed her jacket. "Shall we get dinner?"

"Actually, I need to get home." Jon smiled at her. "My husband is expecting me."

He hoped Ryan was still there. Jon had been a jerk that morning.

"Gabe?"

"Hmm?" Gabe didn't look up from his phone or stop texting. "No, you and Patrick go ahead. I have plans already."

"Well, Patrick?" Victoria smiled at him.

"Uh," Patrick coughed. "I know this great jazz bar. I'm told they have great steak. I mean, I've never had it, since I'm kind of a vegetarian, so maybe we could—"

"It sounds great, Patrick." Victoria grinned. "Let's go." She grabbed her briefcase and headed to the door.

Jon flashed Patrick a thumbs-up and a big grin behind Victoria's back. "Go get her, tiger."

"Shut. Up." Patrick muttered as he followed her out.

Gabe stood and clapped Jon on the back. "Mark my words, Jonny Boy. Bill isn't going to be the only one involved with a client when all this is done."

"I think you underestimate Patrick's sense of right and wrong." Jon said.

"And you underestimate Victoria." Gabe pointed at him. "See you tomorrow."

Jon watched Gabe leave, whistling as he waited for the elevator. He was pretty sure he was the only one in that meeting who was not going to have a good time that night.

***

"Tell me again why you're cooking him dinner?" Spencer sat in the middle of the kitchen table and watched Ryan as he struggled to open a jar of marinara sauce.

"Because," Ryan grunted. "I need to show Jon that I do stuff without magic all the time since he apparently doesn't think that's true. Fuck!" He held the jar out to Spencer with a huff. "Open this. Without magic."

Spencer rolled his eyes but took the jar and twisted the lid off easily. "Turn it the other way, moron."

" _Anyway_ ," Ryan said pointedly as he took the jar back, "I'm going to make spaghetti. How hard can it be?"

"Not hard at all, once you turn on the stove." Spencer nodded toward the pot of water that had been sitting on the unlit stove for the last ten minutes.

"Shit." Ryan turned on the gas. "It's not cheating to help it along, right?" He tapped the pot twice until the water was at a full boil and he dumped a box of thin spaghetti in it. Ryan started to sit down before he jumped up to grab the kitchen timer, setting it to go off in five minutes.

Spencer thought about reminding Ryan that he would also need to stir it once in a while but changed his mind. If Ryan wanted to cook Jon a dinner he really did not deserve, fine.

"So you came up with ideas for his campaign and he thought you used magic?" Spencer was rethinking his assessment that Jon was a good guy.

"Yeah. Which is stupid. It's not like I need magic to write." Ryan poured the sauce into another pot and set it on the stove before he turned back to Spencer. "I don't think Jon gets how my abilities work."

"Turn on the stove, Ryan."

"Shit." Ryan turned on the gas under the sauce. "After his party we've been doing really well. I've explained a lot of things to him about it all."

Ryan took two plates out of the cupboard and set them next to Spencer on the table.

"I think he's an asshole," Spencer said. "He accused you of lying. He insulted your writing. And yet, you're making him dinner."

"I'm trying to learn the art of compromise." Ryan jumped when the timer went off. He turned off the gas under the pasta and stared at it.

"You need to drain it," Spencer said finally. "In a colander."

Ryan gave him a blank look over his shoulder. Spencer sighed, got up from the kitchen table, and began opening and closing cupboard doors.

"Here." He pulled out a stainless steel strainer and put it in the sink. "Pour the pasta into that."

Ryan reached for the pot but Spencer stopped him and handed him a pair of potholders with a shake of his head.

"Right." Ryan lifted the pot and poured the steaming water slowly into the strainer until at the very end, a large congealed mass of spaghetti fell out with a loud squelching noise. "Is it supposed to look like that?"

"Not really," Spencer admitted. "But at least it proves you cooked it all by yourself."

Ryan poked at it gingerly and sighed.

***

"Hey." Jon stood in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of Ryan's reception. The table was set, there were lit candles flickering and a pot with a lid on it was in the middle of it all.

Ryan turned from where he was looking out the back door.

"I didn't hear you come home," he said. "I made dinner."

"You didn't order in?" Jon asked as he sat down, suddenly exhausted and ashamed. He'd come home fully prepared to grovel for Ryan's forgiveness and it seemed like Ryan was doing the same thing. It pissed him off and made him feel like shit.

"No. I said I made it." Ryan poured them each a glass of wine. "It's just spaghetti, though, nothing fancy."

"I was kind of hoping you'd conjured up steak," Jon said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He'd been craving it since Patrick mentioned it earlier.

Ryan's face closed off. "Well, sorry. I wanted to make dinner. By myself, without magic" he stressed. "What is your problem?"

"They hated my ideas, that's my problem," Jon snapped. "They were shit, just like you said." He drained his wineglass in two long gulps. "My life would be easier if I could just use magic for everything like you do."

"You know what? Fuck you." Ryan pushed away from the table. "I actually cooked for you. And worse, I defended you to Spencer. _Again._ But maybe he was right after all. Warlocks and mortals have no business marrying." He stood up. "I'll be upstairs."

"Fine," Jon snipped. "I'd rather be alone anyway."

Ryan narrowed his eyes before he walked away. Jon could hear him walk up the steps and he was surprised that Ryan didn't just vanish up there. He sighed and rubbed his head. After a minute, he lifted the lid on the pot, and sighed again. Inside was a large blob of spaghetti covered in sauce. It hadn't been stirred together, and really, Jon doubted it could be stirred at all.

Shit. Ryan really had cooked dinner without using magic. Jon was such a fucking asshole.

"Ryan!" Jon yelled as he ran up the stairs to their room. "Ryan!"

He threw open the bedroom door and saw the open suitcase on their bed, but no Ryan. Jon blinked at the empty spot before him. "Leave it to you to fucking pop away in the middle of a fight," he muttered.

"I didn't go anywhere, asshole, I'm invisible. You obviously don't want to see me."

Jon spun around. Clothes were floating in the air from the open dresser drawer and landing neatly in the suitcase. Ryan's clothes. Shoes landed on top, sole facing up, and then the suitcase was shut and picked up off the bed.

"Ryan, come on," Jon pleaded. "I was being an ass. Please don't leave." He followed the suitcase down the stairs to the front door.

"Trust me, Jon," Ryan said. "I don't want to see you right now either."

The suitcase floated through the open doorway and down the steps of the porch. Jon saw Pete watching from across the street, a look of sympathy on his face.

"Ryan, please." Jon tried one last time, but then the suitcase was gone.

***

"Got a second?"

Jon glanced up from his computer at Patrick leaning against the doorjamb of Jon's office. Patrick looked concerned, but not pissed, so Jon beckoned him in as he saved his work.

"You look like shit," Patrick said as he walked toward Jon.

"Thanks," Jon laughed, rueful. "Had kind of a rough night. What's up?" Jon asked as Patrick settled in a chair across from him.

"I just got off a conference call with Victoria and Gabe." Patrick's fingers were drumming on his thigh, something Jon knew he did when he was trying to figure out which words to use.

"He told me you sent him and Victoria an email this morning with some new images and taglines," Patrick said finally. "I wish you'd run that by me first."

Shit. Jon had stayed up all night, alternating between staring mindlessly at the television and throwing a ball for a rousing game of indoor fetch with Marley. Finally around four he'd given up, driven all the way to the office because he didn't feel like taking the train, and worked up Ryan's ideas on his MacBook.

"Listen, Patrick," Jon said quickly. "I should've brought you in on it, gotten your permission before sending them something they obviously didn't like anymore than yesterday's work, so if you—"

"Actually, they loved it," Patrick interrupted with a small smile. "Victoria said it was exactly what they wanted."

"Wow," Jon exhaled loudly. "You could've led with that."

"And you could've told me you were doing this so I wouldn't have to pretend I knew what the fuck new images they were raving about," Patrick said sternly. "Seriously, I'm still the boss."

"Won't happen again, swear." Jon's grin was brief. "So I saved the account?"

"You did. Why aren't you happier?"

"Ryan and I had a pretty big fight when I got home yesterday." Jon twirled his pen around his fingers and didn't look at Patrick. "He took off and I haven't heard from him since."

"And you did all this last night?" Patrick leaned forward, curious.

"Ryan," Jon stopped. He couldn't admit that Ryan wrote everything Gabe and Victoria loved. "Ryan inspired me," he said at last.

"Well," Patrick smiled as he stood. "Seems like Ryan has the magic touch. Take the rest of the week off and fix whatever you fucked up."

"How do you know I fucked up?" Jon asked, curious.

"Because if it had been the other way around Ryan wouldn't have had to get away from you." Patrick paused at the door and looked back at Jon. "Seriously, fix it. You taking a chance with him convinced me to take my own chances. See you Monday."

Jon watched Patrick walk out, a bounce in his step. If only he knew about Ryan's magic touch, Jon thought with a fond grin.

 _Magic touch._ That was it. He'd get Spencer to use his magic touch to bring Jon to Ryan. If that didn't prove to Ryan that Jon was accepting of Ryan's magic, Jon didn't know what would.

***

"Brendon, come on, please." Jon was begging and he didn't care. He pushed out of his car and ran up the steps of the house. "Can't you just let me talk to Spencer?"

"He's just _left_ ," Brendon said again. "I keep telling you that."

"But I need him to come get me, I keep telling _you_ that." Jon opened the door and Marley didn't come bounding up to him like normal. "Shit. Marley!"

"Thanks for yelling," Brendon said sarcastically.

"Sorry." Jon held the phone away from his head as he walked into the kitchen. "Marley! C'mere." He saw the back door wide open.

"Fuck, Brendon, someone's been here. I gotta go." He hung up on Brendon's shout and ran out to the backyard. "Mar—Spencer. Shit."

Spencer sat in one of the chairs in the back corner, Marley sound asleep at his feet. Jon crossed the yard to stand awkwardly at the end of the chair, his hands shoved into his jeans. Marley lifted his head sleepily when Jon approached, but didn't rise to greet him.

"Hey," Jon said. "I just got off the phone with Brendon."

"I know." Spencer stood up and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I was there when you called him, begging for help."

"So you're here to help?" Jon asked hopefully.

"Why should I? You really fucked up this time, Jon." Spencer conjured a mirror that showed Ryan sitting in a chair at Spencer's house, writing furiously in a journal. "You basically called him a liar; you didn't believe that he could write without using magic and worst yet, you doubted how he felt about you."

Jon reached out to touch the image of Ryan in the mirror but it vanished just as his finger brushed the cold surface. He shoved his hand back in his pocket and looked at the ground.

"Well?" Spencer asked.

"I'm lost without him," Jon said finally. He looked up at Spencer. "Already. I know he didn’t use his magic. I had a shitty day and was an asshole who took it out on his husband."

Spencer didn't say anything, just looked at Jon with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

"I called Brendon so that you could come take me to Ryan." Jon waited, but Spencer remained silent. "Don't you get it? I need you to use magic to help me! If that doesn't prove to Ryan that I accept him and don't want him to change at all, I don't know what will."

"Right, you don't want him to change," Spencer said disbelievingly. "So he can use magic whenever he wants?"

"Yes," Jon replied. "I trust him, Spencer. I was stupid not to. I just…didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

"That Ryan not using his magic just to make me happy would make me more upset." Jon shrugged. "I fell in love with him that first day, y'know? And it wasn't magic, it wasn't some spell. It was just Ryan. And I miss him and I want him to come home."

Spencer stared at Jon before he nodded and bent over to scratch Marley between the ears. Marley disappeared.

"Spencer!"

"What?" Spencer straightened and grabbed on to Jon's forearm. "You don't want to leave him outside while you're in Vegas, do you?" He waved an arm toward the house. "I locked up for you. Hold tight."

Jon barely had two seconds to register that Spencer was helping him before they landed in Spencer's kitchen.

"Well, that didn't take as long as I thought it would." Brendon calmly looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the table. He was grinning, though.

Jon squeezed his eyes shut against the spinning room. "I think I'm going to throw up," he mumbled, a hand on his stomach.

"That's normal," Brendon said. "Spencer, come on, let's give them some time alone."

"Thanks," Ryan whispered from behind Jon.

Jon opened his eyes gingerly, saw Brendon dragging Spencer out of the kitchen and he turned his head slowly and saw Ryan standing next to the stove, eyes wide.

"Are you trying to cook again?" Jon asked stupidly. There was a pot of something on one of the burners and a wooden spoon in Ryan's hand.

"Brendon thought it might be a good idea to learn how to properly cook pasta," Ryan admitted with a shrug. "I told him that the stuff I made last night didn't turn out so well."

"You don’t need to learn how to cook," Jon blurted out. "I don't care if you make food appear out of nowhere for the rest of our lives."

Ryan's eyes went wide again.

"I know I haven't been great at telling you, but I meant it when I said I didn't care if you used magic." Jon sat down heavily in a chair. "The room is still spinning."

Ryan set the spoon down on the stove, crossed to crouch in front of Jon and ran his hand through Jon's hair. "Better?"

"Mmm," Jon leaned into the touch then realized he felt fine. "Wow, that's amazing. _You're_ amazing."

"I can’t believe you let Spencer bring you here," Ryan admitted. "That's a long trip for your first time."

"You were here," Jon said simply. "Gabe and Victoria really liked your ideas. So did I."

"Oh?" Ryan was still in front of Jon and he played idly with Jon's fingers. "You didn't lose the account then?"

"No. I sorta didn't tell Patrick they were your ideas," Jon confessed. "I will, though. Promise."

"You don't have to," Ryan said, standing.

"Wait." Jon stood, too and took both of Ryan's hands in his. "I was an asshole. I'm probably going to be an asshole again. A lot."

"Yeah, you were." Ryan tried to hide his smile. "But—"

"I'm not done," Jon interrupted. "I should have told you I was angry because your ideas were so much better than mine, not accused you of using magic. Tom was right—I don't tell the people I love the important things because I'm worried it will push them away."

He cupped Ryan's face in his hands. "I ended up pushing you away anyway. And it sucked."

"It really sucked." Ryan leaned forward and kissed Jon, hard and fast. "We have a lot to figure out, still."

Jon nodded, face pressed close to Ryan's.

"I need to trust that this is real," Ryan said softly. "You need to trust that you can tell me anything that's on your mind."

"We both need to trust that we're not going anywhere," Jon added, kissing the spot beneath Ryan's ear that made him shiver. "But first…"

"We have to go home and have make-up sex?" Ryan asked hopefully.

Jon chuckled low in his throat. "I was going to say we needed to thank Brendon and Spencer, but I like your idea better."

"We can do that later." Ryan wrapped his arms around Jon's waist. "Think you're okay to travel?"

"You'll take care of me when we get there," Jon said confidently.

"Always." Ryan kissed Jon softly and held on tighter.

When the kiss broke, they were standing in the front yard of their house in Chicago. Ryan ran his right hand through Jon's hair, as he'd done at Spencer's. Jon sighed into the touch and Ryan felt the tension bleed from Jon's body.

He turned in Jon's embrace and looked out at the front yard, Jon's arms wrapped around his waist.

"We should plant a tree," Ryan said, pointing toward the corner of the yard next to the street and driveway. "Something pretty, like a magnolia."

"That's a great idea. We can buy it in the spring and plant it together." Jon pressed a kiss to the back of Ryan's neck.

"Or," Ryan paused and snapped his fingers. A small magnolia tree in full bloom appeared, perfectly placed.

"That's not going to attract any notice or anything," Jon laughed. "It's perfect."

"Should I get rid of it?" Ryan asked hesitantly.

"Nope. Like I said, perfect." Jon backed away from Ryan and started up the steps. "Come on."

Ryan followed him. "I don't suppose you cleaned the kitchen yesterday?"

"Nope. And it can wait until tomorrow," Jon grinned at Ryan over his shoulder. "Let's go upstairs."

"Jon, seriously, that pasta was so—oh _shit_ , I left the pasta boiling at Spencer's." Ryan stopped and looked torn. "Oh, fuck it, they'll find it. And you're right—the kitchen will be fine." He waved a hand toward the kitchen. "Well, now it will."

"Ryan, come _on_." Jon stood on the bottom step, impatient.

"What're you waiting for?" Ryan asked him from the top step, where he stood naked.

Jon ran up the steps and grabbed Ryan around his waist. "I really love being married to a warlock."

Ryan wiggled his nose with a sly smile and they disappeared from the hallway.

***

"Pete!" Ashlee stood on their sidewalk, holding onto Bronx with one hand and the dog's leashes with the other. "Pete, seriously!"

Pete came running through the front door. "What? Is it time?"

"I still have six weeks, Pete, you need to stop asking that every time I yell for you." Ashlee pointed across the street at Jon's house. "Where did that tree come from?"

Pete picked up Bronx and settled him on his hip as he took in the pink flowering tree that was definitely not there yesterday.

"It's been there for months, Ash." Pete waggled his eyebrows. "Maybe it's the hormones. Ow! Why'd you hit me?"

"Sorry, it must have been my hormones," she said sarcastically. "That tree was not there yesterday."

"You're right," Pete replied seriously. An idea occurred to him. "Hey, maybe you should go over later and ask Ryan if you can see his wand!"

the end


End file.
